


We always know

by bangyababy



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Childhood Friends, Childhood selective mutism, Clint/Kate Background, Coming Out, End Game Stucky, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friends to Enemies, Humor, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Panic Attacks, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Roommates, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Steve Rogers Has Issues, War Veteran Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-19 15:02:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18137297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bangyababy/pseuds/bangyababy
Summary: “You ever wonder how I got over my Selective Mutism?” Steve asked. “Spite.”“Not that I don’t wholeheartedly believe that, but what does James or Bucky or whatever the hell his name is have to do with that?”“I did it to spite him,” Steve clarified.Sam put his head in his hands. “Okay, yeah, that checks out. Fuck.”“So you agree he can’t stay here.”Sam stood up and clapped Steve on the shoulder. “Oh no, he’s staying here. Like I said he signed the lease.”-Steve and Bucky were best friends until middle school when Steve overheard Bucky saying it was weird he didn’t talk. Soon after, Bucky moved away and they never spoke again. Almost fifteen years later, they've somehow managed to become roommates.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been a bit of a struggle. It’s my first longer MCU fic, so I struggled a lot. That being said, there were a bunch of people (too many to name, sorry!) who I spoke to while writing this fic that helped me get my bearings, so thanks to everyone who took the time to speak with. In particular, rm-knj, who had to listen to me talk about this story basically every single day for the last few months. I would also like to thank Lillaby for their incredible beta work and feedback. And of course knifetogunfight for their amazing artwork. Also to elle1991 who gave me the idea of Steve having childhood selective mutism from their fic (which will be linked at the bottom!). Last to the mods, for being very understanding. 
> 
> The title is from G-Dragon's, Untitled, 2014 (무제)(無題)
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

**1995**

Steve sat on the floor of Dr. Brenner’s office coloring a picture. He could hear his mom and Dr. Brenner talking about him, but he was too busy trying to draw a dragon spaceship to really care what they were saying. It was always the same thing anyway. 

“Mrs. Rogers, as far as I can tell, there’s nothing wrong with Steve’s ability to speak. He just has to want to do it,” Dr. Brenner explained. “Perhaps raise the stakes. For instance, if he doesn’t vocalize, don’t respond. If he knows that speaking out loud will get him what he wants, then he’ll be more motivated to do so.” 

Sarah all but huffed. “I’ve tried that. And rewards, and anything else you’re about to suggest. It hasn’t worked. We need something different.” 

Dr. Brenner gave her a sympathetic look over her glasses. “Mrs. Rogers, Steve is still quite young. In some rare cases, children don’t grow out of this until well into their teens.” 

Sarah nodded. “But they do grow out of it?” 

Dr. Brenner paused. “In most cases, yes. But there is always a possibility he won’t.” Dr. Brenner gave her a small smile. “But he can still live a perfectly normal life even if he doesn’t, you know.”

“I know,” Sarah whispered, placing her head in her hands. “I just…I just want him to be okay. He already has so many things stacked against him and now…I just want him to be happy.”

Steve saw this out of the corner of his eye, so he turned fully to see if his mom was all right. Steve knew that sometimes his mom looked like that when she was tired. He didn’t think this was a good place to sleep, and the doctor wasn’t doing anything, so Steve got up and walked over to his mother. He tapped her on the shoulder to get her attention. Sarah wiped her eyes before turning to her son, but Steve still saw that she had been crying. 

Steve glanced at Dr. Brenner and then back to his mom before signing,  _ Mommy crying? _

“I’m all right, Steve.”

_ I make Mommy cry? _

Tears welled up in Sarah’s eyes and she pulled Steve to her chest. “No, no, baba, no. Mommy’s just a little worried, that’s all.” 

Steve buried his face in his mother's hair and breathed in the scent of apples and fresh flowers. Like this, he couldn’t see anything but his mom’s hair, and it almost felt like they were alone. Steve took a deep breath and whispered, “I love you, Mommy.” 

Sarah pulled back and looked in awe at Steve, who glanced nervously at Dr. Brenner. “Steve,” she whispered, and then pulled him to her again. “Oh, Steve I love you so much.” 

Dr. Brenner sat watching the scene with a curious expression on her face but said nothing. 

Sarah turned to her and mouthed, “He whispered.”

Dr. Brenner beamed. “That’s great news,” she whispered back. 

Finally, Sarah told Steve to clean up his drawing and she turned back to Dr. Brenner, still wiping her eyes. “Sorry,” she said. “That’s the first time he’s ever spoken outside of the house.” 

“No need to apologize,” Dr. Brenner assured her. “I completely understand. I think at this point, it would be best if he saw a behavior specialist. I can recommend one who is able to sign. Let me get their card.” 

Steve quickly colored in the wings of his dragon while the grownups talked.

—

Steve did not want to go to the behavioral specialist. 

“Steve, please,” Sarah sighed, looking up at the ceiling as if for strength. “You can’t say you don’t like it if you’ve never even been.”

“I don’t wanna,” Steve huffed, crossing his arms. 

“Well, sometimes we have to do things that we don’t want to do, and you’re going to see the nice man and talk to him.” 

“No!” Steve screamed, ripping off the hat his mother had just placed on his head. “I won’t!” He turned and tried to run away back into the apartment, but Sarah caught him by his jacket hood and picked him up underneath his arms. She turned him around and sat him down on the table before bending down so that they were eye level. 

“You listen to me, Steven Grant Rogers,” Sarah said, her voice low and sharp. Steve knew he was in trouble when she used his full name, and even more so when her voice changed from a soft lilt to a harsh melody. Steve called it her Mad Voice, and it was exactly the voice she was using. Steve bowed his head as she continued, “We do not shout in this house. If we are upset about something, we can say why nicely. Now, do you want to try and tell me why you’re upset in your nice voice?" 

Steve shook his head. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. 

“Steven,” she warned. Steve looked up at her, tears in his eyes and his mouth opening and closing like a fish. All the words he wanted to say were sitting there, right there in the back of his mouth but they wouldn’t come out. Sarah sighed and pulled him to her chest. “It’s all right, love,” she murmured. “I’m sorry I got angry.” 

Steve sniffled into her shoulder for a few moments before she pulled back and he swiped at his face. 

“All right?” 

Steve nodded, then signed,  _ I don’t like doctors _ .

“And why is that?” 

_ Doctors make you sad.  _

Sarah frowned. “I know it’s not fun to go to the doctors, but they aren’t trying to make you sad.”

Steve shook his head furiously.  _ No. YOU sad.  _

“Me?” Sarah gasped. 

Steve nodded.  _ They don’t know what’s wrong with me. It makes you sad. I make you sad.  _

Sarah paused, unsure of what to say. On the one hand, she could lie to her son, tell him that she wasn’t sad, just tired or worried. On the other hand, there would be almost no point in doing that now. Steve was too smart and he would know she was lying. 

Sarah said, “Steve, it does make me sad that the doctors don’t know why you don’t like to talk outside. But  _ you _ don’t make me sad, baba. It’s just, I know you want to talk, and I wish I could help, but I can’t. That makes me sad.” 

_ You try. _

“I do, but I needed a little extra help, and so do you, and that’s okay, right?”

Steve nodded.  _ I want to talk.   _

“I know you do, and I know it’s hard and you’re trying. But that’s why we have to go see the doctors, so maybe they can make it easier for you to talk.” Sarah ruffled his hair. “They just want to help, I promise."

_ Okay _ , Steve signed. 

"So, you think we can go see if the doctor can help?" 

Steve nodded. 

“Think you can try that out loud?” 

Steve looked at his mom’s face and she gave him a big smile, so he knew she wasn’t mad anymore. But still, he squeezed his eyes shut and whispered, “Okay.” 

“I knew you could do it,” Sarah said when Steve opened his eyes. She took him down from the counter and grabbed his hat off the floor. She handed it to Steve, who shoved it on his head, then held her hand out for him to take. 

  
  


—

Steve had been going to the behavior specialist for a few months now. The office wasn’t very big, but it had a lot of toys and books he could look at while they waited. He liked Dr. Kahn, too because he could sign to him, and sometimes the doctor even signed back instead of talking; something that not even his mother did. It was fun to have a sign conversation with people. It felt like they had their own secret language. 

Dr. Kahn shared the office with some other doctor Steve didn’t know, and when he and his mom walked in there was a woman and little boy already waiting. Steve had never seen the boy before. He was taller than Steve, but most everyone was, and he had a mop of curly hair that he kept swiping out of his face. 

The woman smiled at them as they entered and Steve followed his mother to the check-in counter, every once in awhile sneaking a peek at the boy who was playing with some cars on the floor. After his mother checked them in, she sat down a seat away from the woman, and Steve beside her. 

“Hello,” Sarah greeted, nodding her head. 

“Hello,” the woman said back.

That must have caught his attention, because the boy looked up and saw the arrival of a new child and perked right up. He stood up and walked over to Steve. “I’m Bucky,” the boy said, sticking his hand out for Steve to shake. Steve looked at the hand before slowly sticking out his own. Bucky took and shook it vigorously. “What’s your name?” 

Steve’s eyes found his mother and he looked at her with wide, panicked eyes. Bucky turned to look at Sarah as well. 

“Ah,” Sarah began. “This is Steve.”

“Don’t you know your own name, Steve?”

“Bucky,” Bucky’s mother hissed. “Manners. I’m so sorry,” she said to Sarah. 

Bucky looked sheepish and Steve glared at him. “Sorry.” 

“That’s all right. Steve knows his name,” Sarah replied. “It’s just he doesn’t like to talk much.”

“ _ At all? _ ” Bucky asked, eyes bulging out of his head. 

“Bucky!”

“That’s okay,” Bucky said. “My mom says I talk enough for the both of us, so I can talk enough for you, too.”

Bucky’s mother threw her head into her hands with a muffled, “Oh my god,” and Sarah tried to contain her laughter. 

“We’re here because my sister Becca gets real mad sometimes and doesn’t get unmad for a real long time,” Bucky told them.

“ _ James Buchanan. _ ” Bucky’s mother looked like she was ready to die or kill Bucky, either would be suitable at that point. Sarah had to fully turn away to hide her laughter. 

Bucky did a little scowl at his mother, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, it’s  _ true _ . You said we hafta tell the truth.”

Bucky’s mother tilted her head back and closed her eyes. “I did say that, didn’t I?” 

Bucky shrugged, then turned back to Steve. “C’mon, let’s play cars,” Bucky said, pulling Steve’s hand. Steve sank down to the floor while their mothers chatted behind him. Bucky’s mother introducing herself as Winnie. 

Bucky made up the story and Steve followed, every once in awhile gesturing about something he didn’t like or a new idea. Bucky seemed to catch on pretty quick, and they played for a few minutes before Bucky asked, "So if you don’t talk, how do you tell people that you gotta go to the bathroom and stuff?” 

Steve sat up straighter, suddenly excited to show Bucky how he  _ could _ talk. He drew Bucky’s attention to his hands and signed  _ Bathroom _ . 

“Huh?”

“Steve can talk using sign language,” Sarah explained. 

Suddenly, Bucky was just as excited as Steve. “Hey! I’ve heard of that! Can you teach me how to say Bucky?” 

Steve nodded and signed slowly,  _ B U C K Y _ . Bucky tried to copy him and he got it right on the second try. 

“That’s so cool! So, how do you say Steve?”  Steve signed his own name and Bucky followed suit. “I want to learn sign language too!” Bucky got up and went to his mother and laid his head in his lap like a puppy and said, “Mommy, can I learn sign language so I can talk to my new best friend Steve? Please?” 

Sarah gasped and Winnie’s mouth opened and closed, unsure how to respond. Bucky fluttered his eyelashes at her the way he’d seen women do in movies sometimes, hoping to get her to say yes. 

“Sweetie,” she began, looking between her son, Steve, and Sarah’s face. “Learning sign language takes a lot of time and concentration. It’s hard work.”

Steve scrambled over to the group of them shaking his head and signing furiously. Winnie watched and then looked to Sarah for help. 

“He’s saying, it’s easy,” Sarah translated, voice tight. “He’s saying best friend.” The tightness finally cracked on the last word, but neither boy noticed. 

“He said Bucky!” Bucky cried, watching Steve sign  _ Bucky’s my best friend _ . 

“Well,” Winnie sighed, watching the emotions play across Sarah’s face. “If it’s all right with Steve’s mom, maybe we can set up a playdate and Steve can teach you a few things first, hm? Then we’ll see about learning for real.”

Both Steve and Bucky turned to Sarah with pleading expressions and Sarah laughed. “I think that would be just fine.” 

Bucky and Steve went back to playing, but soon the doctor came out to call Steve back.  Bucky finally decided he could go to the bathroom now that he wasn’t going to miss out on any time with his new best friend Steve, and Winnie and Sarah were left alone.

“You have a lovely son," Sarah said. “I’ve never seen a child take quite so easily to Steve.”

Winnie smiled at her. “Thank you. Bucky can be a little much, but I like to think he’s a good kid.”

“Most kids, when they find out Steve doesn’t talk, they just ignore him or make fun of him, but your Bucky…I’ve never seen that.” Sarah paused to collect herself for a moment. “If it’s all right, it really would be nice to follow through on that playdate, I know you’re probably busy, but I would be willing to take care of everything—”

“Sarah,” Winnie cut her off. “Of course we’re going to have a playdate, didn’t you hear? Our sons are best friends. Who am I to separate them?"

“You’re serious?” 

“Yeah. Steve seems like a great kid.” 

Sarah was caught a bit off guard. “This isn’t normally how this conversation goes. Usually other parents…” She trailed off, unwilling to say anything truly mean about other parents. She understood it was hard for people to adjust to Steve’s normal, but at the end of the day he was still a  _ kid _ , and he just wanted a friend. 

“Well, then they’re closed minded jerkoffs,” Winnie supplied and Sarah laughed. “I can be a jerkoff too, but I try to at least stay open-minded about it.”

The women both fell into laughter as Bucky came back into the room. “Whaddaya laughing at?” Bucky asked. 

“You wouldn’t understand,” Winnie teased, then looked at Sarah. “Just something between best friends.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes at his mom, muttered, “Moms,” and went back to playing with his cars. 

**2002**

Steve was in a bathroom stall hiding from Jason Helman when the bathroom door opened and several boys came in, talking and laughing. Steve immediately recognized one of the voices as Bucky. 

Steve was just about to come out of the stall when he heard what the were talking about. 

“Barnes, I’m saying you’d get a lot more girls if he stopped following you around like some lost puppy.” 

“He doesn’t follow me around,” Bucky said back. “We’re friends.” Steve smiled at Bucky through the stall door. 

“Whatever,” some other boy said. “He’s dead weight. Alex Pierce said he was gonna invite you to his party, but he’d knew you’d bring Helen Keller with you, so he didn’t.” 

“Don’t call him that,” Bucky murmured. 

“Whatever, Barnes. Point is, he’s a freak and he’s dragging you down, man. I bet if you promised Alex you wouldn’t bring him, he’d invite you to his party. Jessica is gonna be there, man, c’mon.” 

Another boy cut in, “I mean, you gotta at least admit it’s fucking weird that Rogers  _ doesn’t talk _ .”

It was silent for a moment, the only sound was of boys zipping their flies and Steve held his breath, waiting for Bucky to answer.

“Yeah, it is kinda weird,” Bucky said quietly. 

Steve stumbled back and slammed into the toilet paper dispenser, but thankfully no one heard him because they were all flushing and washing their hands. 

“See?” a boy said. “So just tell Alex you won’t bring him and come to the party with us.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky agreed, and Steve could so easily picture the smile on his face. “It’s not like Steve would have fun at the party anyway.” 

There was more laughter and chatter as they left the bathroom. Steve stayed in there for a long time after the bell rang, trying to process what just happened, but nothing made sense. 

After what felt like hours, Steve finally stood up and grabbed his backpack off of the hook on the stall door and slipped it on. He walked in a daze to the office, and as soon as the secretary saw him she waved him through to the nurse without a word. The nurse took one look at him and called his mom. 

Sarah showed up fifteen minutes later and took him home without a word. It wasn’t until they were in the safety of their apartment that she spoke. 

“Steve, what happened?” Steve shook his head at her, then went to his room, closing the door behind him. “Steve,” she called through the door. “I’ve got to back to work. I’ll be home around seven, okay?” There was no response. “I love you.” 

Steve heard his mom leave the apartment. He waited five minutes, and then, only then, did he open his mouth and scream. 

—

Bucky waited for Steve at their usual spot in front of the school. He was going over how to bring up to Steve that he couldn’t hang out tomorrow after school. He was trying to find a suitable excuse for why Steve couldn’t come with him without telling him about the party. He couldn’t say he was going to visit his grandparents, because Steve usually came when he did that. Maybe he could tell Steve he was grounded? But then he’d have to find something to get grounded for. 

Steve still hadn’t come out yet and it had been at least twenty minutes. He remembered vaguely that Steve had mentioned some type of appointment this week. Maybe it was today? His suspicions were confirmed when Kathy Pullman came out and told him that Steve must have gone home early because he wasn’t in fourth or fifth period. 

Bucky thanked her and went home. The next morning Bucky waited for Steve outside of school, but Steve never showed. He didn’t see Steve between classes or at lunch. By the time school was over his stomach was clenching with worry. 

The only reason Steve wouldn’t be in school was if he was sick, and if he was sick enough to admit that he needed to stay home, he was  _ really sick _ . Bucky felt a rush of guilt at the thought that he was trying to come up with ways to ditch Steve, and now Steve was sick. God, he was a horrible friend. As soon as school was out Bucky raced to Steve’s place, which was thankfully only a couple of blocks away. 

He took the stairs two at a time and knocked on the door twice, and when no one answered, he pulled out the spare key Sarah had given him last year. Steve had gotten really sick last year and had been on bed rest, so with Sarah at work, Bucky could let himself in after school without disturbing the neighbors or Steve. 

“Steve?” Bucky called, setting his backpack down at the dining table. “Stevie, you here?” 

Bucky was heading for Steve’s room when the door opened and Steve flew out, a small angry blur. “What the—!” Bucky got out before Steve was on him, shoving him towards the door, his eyes red like he’d been crying and his face splotchy. 

“Steve, what the hell!” Bucky cried, pushing him back. Steve’s face went even redder. Bucky had  _ never  _ seen him this upset. Now he was truly worried. “What is going on?”

Steve just screamed at him, unable to get words out through his rage, pushing at Bucky again. Bucky struggled against him, grabbing his arms so that he would stop shoving him. “Steve, stop it!” 

Finally Steve stilled, his chest heaving, and Bucky could see the beginnings of an asthma attack. “Jesus,” he muttered, and Steve pulled his hands away while Bucky dashed into the kitchen to grab a spare inhaler. 

Steve snatched it from his hands and took two puffs, all the while glaring daggers at Bucky. When he could finally breathe again, Steve hissed, “Get out.” 

Bucky took a step back, blinking in surprise. “Excuse me?” 

Steve tossed his inhaler on the table and signed,  _ I said get out. I don’t want to see you ever again.  _

Bucky blanched. “What?” 

_ I hate you.  _ Steve signed, and Bucky felt very far away from his body. 

_ You hate me? _ He signed back.

_ That’s what I said.  _

“Steve,” Bucky said, panic seeping into his voice. He couldn’t understand why Steve was suddenly acting like this. What could Bucky have done to make Steve this mad? He signed,  _ What is going on? You’re not making sense.  _

_ I hate you and I don’t want to see your ugly ass face ever again, _ Steve signed, and then.  _ What’s so hard to understand about that, dumbass? _

_ Are you serious? _

To punctuate his point, Steve shoved him hard in the chest. Bucky stumbled back, his eyes filling with tears, and even through his blurry vision he could see Steve’s were too. “Fine then! I hate you too, asshole. And if anyone’s a dumbass here, it’s you! You can’t even talk!” 

Bucky pushed Steve, hard and Steve fell to the ground. He glared up at Bucky and he growled while he signed,  _ Leave _ .

Bucky snatched his backpack and ran from the apartment. When he got home his mom was waiting for him. That night Bucky found out his dad was being transferred to Indiana.

—

“Steve, just go talk to him. You’ll never forgive yourself if he leaves and you don’t,” Sarah told him. 

“I don’t want to talk to him," Steve insisted. 

“You're far too stubborn, Steven. I don’t know what that boy did to get you so upset, but you’ve been best friends for as long as you can even remember. I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”

“It doesn’t matter if he meant it or not, Mom, he still did it.” 

Sarah shook her head at him and went back to cooking. Later that night he heard her on the phone, no doubt talking to Bucky’s mom. 

Steve knew his mom meant well, but he couldn’t explain to her what happened. She would just tell Winnie and Winnie would tell Bucky and then Bucky would come over and try to apologize, but it wouldn’t mean anything. Because just like he told his mom, even if Bucky hadn’t actually meant those things he said, he still said them, which meant he had thought them. 

It hurt knowing that Bucky thought it was weird that he didn’t talk, but the worst thing was realizing that he had been holding Bucky back this whole time, that Bucky was just putting up with Steve. 

Which made his feelings for Bucky all the more detestable. Steve hadn’t realized that he had liked Bucky as anything more than a best friend until he had overheard a group of girls talking and Theodora Pappas was telling them how amazing her first kiss with Juan Barrios was. Steve hadn’t really thought about girls much, probably because they never really thought about him much, being as small as he was, with glasses and asthma and constantly in a fight. It never occurred to him to try and have a crush on one. But as he listened to their conversation about kisses and crushes and what they were all going to name their future children, Steve was suddenly struck by the thought that the only person he would want to do any of those things with was Bucky. 

Steve hadn’t told anyone. Not because he was ashamed, he knew gay people existed and his mom had always seemed okay with it. The thing was, the more Steve thought about, the more Steve realized maybe he wasn’t gay? Because he still thought girls were cute. But maybe everyone did that? But then, some boys were cute, too. He didn’t know what that meant, and there was no point in making things weird with Bucky over it, so he just never brought it up. 

Not that that mattered now. 

—

Bucky moved away the day after school ended. Steve never went to see him. Bucky never came to say goodbye.

—

On July 4th, Steve’s 13th birthday, his mother took him to Baskin Robbins. 

“I’ll have two scoops of Rum Raisin, in a cup, please. And Steve?” She turned to her son, waiting for him to sign his order to her.  

Steve looked at his mom, then to the cashier, and said, “Cookies and cream in a cone, please.” 

The cashier looked on flabbergasted as Sarah Rogers began to cry in the middle of Baskin Robbins, hugging her son so tightly he almost had an asthma attack. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the inspiration for Steve's mutism, Elle1991's fic [The Adventures Of Steve Rogers, Newsboy Extraordinaire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15153170).


	2. Chapter 2

“Well, that’s all of it,” Clint said, standing in the middle of the living room with his hands on his hips. “I’m officially moved out.”    
  
“Not until you leave you’re not,” Sam snarked and Steve laughed.    
  
Clint huffed. “Well, I guess I’ll take the pizzas I ordered with me then.”    
  
“Don’t you dare,” Steve warned. “We earned that pizza lugging your godforsaken Pac-Man machine across town.”    
  
Sam flopped down on the couch. “Still can’t believe Kate is letting you keep that thing.”   
  
“Hey! It’s an American classic!” Clint planted himself down next to Sam. “Besides, you guys act like Kate’s my mother. I’m allowed to have things.”    
  
“Nobody is under any illusion that Kate is your mom, Clint,” Steve said, grabbing a slice of pizza. “Even we didn’t want that thing in the apartment.” Sam made a noise of agreement around his bite of pizza. “It is going to be weird not having it here though,” Steve finished.    
  
Clint gasped and put his hand over his heart. “What? It’s not going to be weird not having me here?”    
  
“Do you plan on never coming back?”    
  
“Please say yes.”   
  
“I’m going to be here every day,” Clint decided. “It’ll be like I never moved out.”   
  
“So when can we expect your part of the rent?” Steve grinned.    
  
Clint grabbed a pizza box and stood up. “Well, it was nice knowing you guys.”    
  
“Hey!” Sam shouted and pulled on Clint’s shirt. “Leave the pizza, see ya never, Barton.”    
  
“You guys are weird,” Clint said sitting back down. “But I’m gonna miss you.”    
  
Steve bumped his shoulder with Clint. “We’re gonna miss you, too.”    
  
“Yeah, we will,” Sam agreed. “And it’s gonna be a fucking nightmare trying to find someone to replace you.”    
  
“But no one will ever replace you in our hearts.” Steve fluttered his eyelashes up at Clint.    
  
“Damn straight,” Clint said taking another slice of pizza. “But you got another couple of months to find someone decent.”    
  
Sam snorted. “Thank God for that.”   
  
“I mean we already had the craziest motherfucker in New York here, so anything else is gonna be an upgrade.”    
  
“Hey!” Clint protested, just as Sam said. “True.”    
  
“If you’re gonna be mean, I’m gonna take my hearing aids out,” Clint pouted.    
  
“Go ahead.” Sam tilted his chin in challenge. Clint glared at him and took out his hearing aids. Steve and Sam immediately started signing rude words at him.    
  
“I regret teaching you those,” Clint muttered and shoved his hearing aids back in.   
  
“First of all, I already knew them,” Steve told him. “And second of all, I taught Sam most of those.”    
  
“I hate both of you.”    
  
Sam gave Steve a look and he nodded before they both leaned in and crushed Clint between them, peppering his face with kisses. “We love you, too!”    
  
“Ew! Pizza kisses, no!” Clint cried, trying to wriggle away.   
  
It was just after dark when Clint finally left to spend his first night in his new apartment. Sam and Steve sat on the couch watching Netflix in their too quiet apartment for a few hours before Steve decided to call it a night.    
  
“Is it bad that I already kind of miss him?” Sam asked.    
  
“Nah, I do too,” Steve told him. “But hey, we’ll see him all the time.”   
  
“Yeah, true. And new roommate search starts tomorrow.”    
  
“What a joy.” Steve rolled his eyes. “Night, Sam.”   
  
“Night, Steve.”    
  


—   


  
Sam and Steve had been officially looking for a new roommate for the better part of six weeks. They had interviewed a handful of people that first week, but none of them really clicked. Seeing as Clint had paid his rent for two months, Sam and Steve didn’t feel like they needed to rush to find someone.    
  
But now time was running out and they needed a new roommate by next week unless they wanted to split the third person’s share of the rent.    
  
“Hey, some guy is coming by to look at the apartment later. Are you gonna be around?” Sam asked as Steve was heading for the door.    
  
“Nah, I got class after work today,” Steve reminded him. Steve mainly worked as an adjunct educator where he taught educators and mentors how to use art as an outlet for children with disabilities and developmental or behavioral issues. The hours were good, because they allowed him plenty of time to paint on his own, and he got pretty nice health and dental. The down side was that the pay wasn’t great, so on Tuesdays and Thursdays he taught an introductory paint class to Upper West Side women who were eager to learn from an up and coming art darling. It was probably the most soul sucking art gig he could find, but money was money, and Steve contented himself with the fact that he got to give the students he didn’t like scathing critiques they didn’t understand.    
  
“Oh, shit, right.”   
  
“Can he come after my class? Or maybe another day?”    
  
Sam quirked his lips to the side. “We don’t really have any other days, Steve. Look, I’m a good judge of character, trust me.”    
  
Steve sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. It wasn’t that Steve didn’t trust Sam, it was just that he had some issues with people he didn’t know talking to him and living in his space. Anyone would be wary of a stranger they’d never met moving into their home, but Steve knew that Sam was about to turn this into another discussion on being open and accepting change, and Steve really didn’t want to hear it right then.    
  
“Call me if you think he’s a good fit though, and run him by me?” Steve tried.    
  
Sam was practically beaming at him and Steve couldn’t help but smile back. “Deal. And keep your fingers crossed.”    
  
“Fingers crossed,” Steve called, waving crossed fingers over his head as he walked out the door.

  
That evening  Steve had just finished setting the assignment for his paint class when his phone rang. “I’m so sorry, I have to take this,” he told his class. “Just one second.” Steve went out into the hallway and answered the phone. “What’s up, Sam?”   
  
“Okay, so the dude’s here and everything is looking good. First, he’s a vet, and I actually know some guys from his unit. Second, he’s got a job over at Stark Tech, he said he liked your piece opposite the TV, and he hasn’t mentioned wanting to eat any of our plants yet, so that’s a plus.”   
  
Steve chuckled. “The bar is really low, huh?”   
  
“Yeah. Says he grew up here, but moved away when he was young, so maybe some of that crazy-bitter New Yorker has worn off. He also gave me a background check and a list of references, one being the actual Tony Stark.”    
  
Steve wrinkled his nose. One of the few things Steve liked about Stark companies was they actually paid their employees a decent wage. Even the janitors could afford rent in New York City. “If he works for Stark why does he need roommates?”   
  
“Jesus, Steve I didn’t exactly ask his salary.”    
  
“Well, maybe you should of. We gotta know he’s gonna make rent.”    
  
“He works for Stark.”   
  
Steve wanted to argue, but he didn’t have anything to rebut that. “Well, what’s his sleep schedule look like?”    
  
“Ah,” Sam hesitated, and Steve picked up on it like blood in the water.   
  
“What is it, Sam?”    
  
“He’s a vet, Steve,” Sam said like that explained it. And really it did, but Steve had never been good at letting things go.    
  
“So what, he’s got like night terrors? Insomnia? Both?” Steve heard Sam sigh and knew he was about to get a lecture, so instead he said, “What’s his name?”    
  
“James…something.” There was the muffled sound of another man's voice.    
  
“For fuck’s sake Sam, are you talking to me about him while he’s standing right there?”    
  
“Well, where the hell else was I supposed to do it? You think I’m gonna leave some stranger alone in our apartment?” Then a bit pulled away from the receiver, “No offense, dude.” Another muffled reply. “Anyway, his name is—”   
  
There was a crash inside the classroom and Steve missed whatever Sam said. “Ah, shit, look Sam, I gotta go.” He took a deep breath. “You like him, you sign him.”   
  
There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Are you sure?’    
  
“I trust you,” Steve said in a rush.    
  
“Thanks, Steve, see you later.”    
  
“Bye,” Steve said quickly and hung up. He took a moment to school his face before he entered the classroom. Honestly, bored rich people were so much fucking worse to deal with than children.    
  


—   
  


By the time Steve got home, he was exhausted. Apparently a few of the participants of that night's class had gotten into some gin just before class started, and when Steve left the room they had passed around a flask. Mr. Johnson had been reaching for it when he fell out of his chair and knocked over not only his, but Mrs. Huston’s stations as well. There was paint everywhere, and obviously Steve was the one who had to clean it up.    
  
“Hey man, what happened earlier?”   
  
“Just the fucking gentry.”    
  
“Eat the rich,” Sam said tipping his beer.    
  
“Grind their bones,” Steve replied automatically, sticking his head in the fridge. “Hey, can I eat this leftover Indian?”   
  
“All yours.”   
  
Steve took the leftovers out and reheated them before placing them in a bowl and walking out to eat next to Sam, who was sipping his beer and watching a rerun of SVU. Steve knew he wanted to say something, but was waiting for Steve to do it first. 

  
The episode was over when Steve finished his food and finally sat back and fixed Sam with a look.    
  
Sam only raised an eyebrow and Steve snorted in response. “Go ahead,” he prompted.   
  
“I don’t have anything to say.” Sam held his hands up like he was innocent. “I thought we were just watching some SVU.”    
  
“I know you want to say some sappy shit about how you’re proud of me for ‘opening my life up to change,’ or that you appreciate my candor.”   
  
“Your candor?”    
  
“You know what the fuck I mean.”    
  
“Yeah, I do, and I gotta say some sappy shit about how proud I am that you’re opening up your life to change, and I really do appreciate your candor.”    
  
Steve gave him a half hearted kick to the calf and they settled into another episode of SVU.    
  
“What’s he like?” Steve asked after a while.    
  
“Nice. Funny, but a little quiet. Seems like he’s trying to be more…I guess himself? See a lot of vets like him, just trying to be the people they were before, or better people, sometimes just people. But he really did like your art. Said it reminded him of being a kid or something.”    
  
Steve hummed in acknowledgement as he puzzled that out. Steve’s work wasn’t what people usually categorized as childlike or whimsical, though he did use plenty of color. But still, art was subjective, and if that’s what this guy thought, so be it. It was an interesting comment though.    
  
They watched in silence until the commercial break, and then Sam spoke up again. “You’re also probably gonna wanna climb him like a tree.”   
  
Steve choked.    
  
“What?”   
  
“I just mean he’s your type. Tall, dark, handsome, funny—”   
  
“That’s you.”   
  
“—a little broody. Also, don’t act like you wouldn’t ride my dick into the sunset given the chance.”    
  
“That an invitation?” Steve asked pulling himself up and swinging his leg over to straddle Sam.    
  
Sam chuckled and ducked his head. Steve leaned in close to Sam’s ear, and in his most exaggerated sexy voice said, “I’d make it worth your while, honey.”    
  
Sam placed a hand square on Steve’s chest. He gave him a seductive look as his fingers trailed over to Steve’s pec. Steve’s brain took about a half second too long to register what was happening, and before he knew it Sam had his nipple between his fingers and was twisting.    
  
“Owowowowow,” Steve cried as he fell off of Sam.    
  
“Ohhh, I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”   
  
Steve grinned up at him. “Do it again, daddy.” He winked. Sam snorted as Steve re-seated himself on the couch.    
  
“Anyway, I really do think you’ll like him. But now that I think about it, you’re just as likely to punch him in the face.”   
  
Steve whipped his head around to look at Sam. “What makes you say that?”   
  
“Just that you’re likely to punch anyone in the face at literally any given moment in time.”   
  
“I am not.”    
  
“Steve, we met because you tried to punch Clint in the face.”    
  
“I thought he was trying something!” Steve protested.    
  
“Yeah, and you barely stopped for anyone to explain what was actually happening.” That had Steve grumbling under his breath and Sam continued, “Look, your heart was in the right place, and you’re a good judge of character most of the time, but you got a tendency for snap judgments. Just give this guy a chance, okay?”   
  
Steve sighed and leaned his head back into the couch cushions. “Yeah, okay. Not like I have much choice seeing as he’s gonna be living here.”    
  
Sam leaned over and bumped shoulders with him. “That’s the spirit.”    
  


—   
  


Steve woke to the sound of shuffling boxes and banging doors. He grabbed his phone to look at the time, but couldn’t make it out. He reached out for his glasses and knocked them onto the floor. Swearing, he picked the glasses up and shoved his glasses on his face before checking his phone for the time. He groaned when he saw that it was barely past nine.    
  
There was a pounding on his door.    
  
“Fuck off!” Steve shouted.    
  
There was muffled laughter in response. “Steve, get your skinny ass up and come help,” Sam ordered through the door. He knocked twice and then walked away.    
  
Steve groaned and flopped down into his bed. Of course his new roommate would move in at ass’oclock in the morning, and of course Sam would rope him into helping. Steve grumbled under his breath as he changed his sleep pants for jeans and headed out into the living room.    
  
“Oh good, he’s up,” Sam announced when Steve appeared in the living room glaring at him. There was man with his back to Steve setting down a box. As he stood up Sam said, “Steve, this is—”   
  
“Bucky?” Steve whispered when the man turned around. He may have been fifteen years older, his face sharper and covered in stubble, his hair even longer than when he was trying to be punk, his eyes weren’t quite as bright as when they were kids, and he was at least a foot taller, but there was no doubt about it.    
  
“Bucky?” Sam repeated, looking back and forth between the two.    
  
“Steve?” Bucky breathed. “Steve, I—” He stopped short when he saw Steve looking anxiously from Sam to Bucky. Bucky raised his hands and quickly signed,  _ do you want to go somewhere else? _

 

“You sign?” Sam asked, looking impressed, then turned to Steve, about to say something. Steve felt his throat tighten. Sam and Bucky were both looking at him with twin expressions of concern. His stomach was twisting itself in his gut with such force that he doubled over and put his hands on his knees.    
  
“Steve?” Sam took a step forward and Steve remembered that he had to breath.    
  
“I’m fine.” It came out acidic even to Steve’s ears, and he saw Bucky take a step back. “Sam—” Steve started, but when he stood up and saw the both of them looking at him the words died on his lips. He jerked his head towards his bedroom and turned to go.    
  
“Sorry, man, I’m not sure what’s happening,” Sam apologized to Bucky. Bucky nodded without a word and watched Sam trail after Steve.    
  
As soon as Steve shut the door Sam started in. “What the hell is going on?”   
  
Steve sighed and let his head hit the door, willing the wriggling in his stomach to go away. He closed his eyes and held up his hands to sign,  _ it’s a long story _ .   
  


“Good, then use your words,” Sam replied.   
  
Steve opened his eyes and glared at Sam. He knew Sam only said it because he was trying to help, and he couldn’t blame him after the scene Steve had just created. “Have I ever told you about my best friend from when I was kid?”    
  
“Not really, just that he turned out to be a dick?”    
  
Steve gave him a humorless smile. “That’s the dick.”    
  
“Holy shit,” Sam breathed, moving to sit on Steve’s bed. “What are the chances?”    
  
“He can’t live here,” Steve declared.   
  
At that Sam sighed. “Steve, he signed a lease. And he paid three months upfront.”    
  
“Sam, you don’t understand,” Steve started as he began to pace the small length of his room. “You saw what just happened out there. One look at him and I couldn’t fucking breath.”   
  
“You were in shock. It’s expected.”    
  
“What he did was unforgivable. It changed my whole life, Sam. He can’t live here.”    
  
“What could a seventh grader possibly have done that was that bad?”    
  
Steve stopped pacing and looked Sam in the eye. “He’s the reason I can talk.”    
  
Sam blinked. “What?”   
  
“You ever wonder how I got over my Selective Mutism?” Steve asked. “Spite.”    
  
“Not that I don’t wholeheartedly believe that, but what does James or Bucky or whatever the hell his name is have to do with that?”    
  
“I did it to spite him,” Steve clarified.    
  
Sam put his head in his hands. “Okay, yeah, that checks out. Fuck.”    
  
“So you agree he can’t stay here.”    
  
Sam stood up and clapped Steve on the shoulder. “Oh no, he’s staying here. Like I said he signed the lease. And maybe while he’s here you can finally work on those trust issues.” Sam started for the door.    
  
“Trust issues?” Steve squawked.    
  
Sam stopped and turned back to Steve with a sigh. “Yeah, Steve, trust issues.”   
  
“Just because I didn’t want some rando living with us without my approval doesn’t mean I have trust issues! I mean look what happened.” Steve threw his arm out towards the door.   
  
“Look, I love you man, and we’ve known each other for a long time, like almost ten years. But don’t you think it’s a little weird that I didn’t know the name of your childhood best friend or whatever the fuck he did that made you like this?”    
  
“Are you fucking serious?”    
  
Sam gave him a long look and then came back over to look directly in Steve’s eye. “Are you really that uncomfortable with the thought of him being here?”    
  
Steve knew that if he said yes, Sam would go out and tell Bucky to leave and they’d never have to speak of this again until Steve was ready. And if Steve was never ready, then Sam wouldn’t push it. Because Sam was a good guy and he would never push Steve into something that he really wasn’t ready for.    
  
He thought about how Bucky was standing out in the living room, and how when they were kids, how he would finish Steve’s fights, and how he’d sometimes start Steve’s fights too. How he would translate for him when they went anywhere. How he never let Steve do anything scary, at least not alone. How many times had Bucky given up something because Steve wouldn’t want to do it?   
  
His whole life Steve had tried to do things on his own, but in the end all his hardest battles were fought by someone else. Maybe this was the one time he could actually win on his own.    
  
“No.”    
  
Sam gave him a small smile. “Time to be an adult, Steve,” he told him and walked out the door.    
  
Steve stared at the space where Sam had been for a few long moments before he turned towards the door. He went through a series of breathing exercises he hadn’t used since he was 13 years old before walking out into the living room to find Bucky speaking quietly with Sam.    
  
Bucky saw him come in and immediately turned to him and signed,  _ You okay? _   
  
“It’s okay,” Steve said, his voice a little raspy. He cleared his throat. “You don’t have to sign.”   
  
“I’m gonna go be anywhere but here,” Sam said. Steve shot him a glare so vehement he started to back away.    
  
Without Sam in the room, the already awkward atmosphere turned almost unbearable. Steve and Bucky stared at each other for a long time without speaking. Bucky had opened his mouth to say something, but closed it just as quickly. Steve took an aborted half step towards him, but hesitated when he saw Bucky about to speak.    
  
“Been awhile,” Steve finally said, just as Bucky said, “How ya been?”    
  
“You first,” Bucky offered, motioning for Steve to speak.    
  
“Oh, uh, just, how are you?” Steve asked lamely, reaching up to fiddle with his glasses.    
  
“Good!” Bucky said quickly, just a tad too quickly. “I mean, I’m good. Great. Just, yeah.”    
  
“Awesome!” Steve replied, then winced.    
  
“How have you been? Sam said you painted that.” Bucky tipped his head towards the painting. “It’s really amazing, but you were always good at drawing, so no surprise there.”   
  
“Oh, thank you, I got really into art around high school. It kind of just took off.” Steve glanced at the painting and back to Bucky.

 

“Is that what you do now?”

 

“Here and there. But mainly I work with teachers to help them introduce art into classrooms, usually for special needs.”    
  
Bucky’s eyebrows raised and he blinked. “That’s really impressive. I’m sure that really makes a difference.” 

  
“I mean, I can talk like a real boy now and everything, so,” Steve couldn’t help but say, and Bucky gave him a look that Steve didn’t quite understand. The following silence was awkward, and it was then that Steve saw a glint on Bucky’s left.    
  
Bucky tracked his gaze and slowly brought forth his arm so it was on display between them. “I lost it in Iraq. This is just a prototype, but...” He wriggled his fingers before looking Steve dead in the eye to say, “Works just as good as my real boy arm.”   
  
“I-I’m sorry,” Steve stammered. “That must have been hard.”   
  
“Yeah, it was,” Bucky said, and Steve knew that that side of the conversation was effectively over.   
  
“Did you just get back?”   
  
“Ah, no.” Bucky ran a hand through his hair as he spoke. “I’ve been crashing on my friend’s couch for like the last year. Decided it was time to get out of their hair.”    
  
“Oh, true.” Steve looked around the room and to the boxes at Bucky’s feet. “Should we, like, get the rest of your stuff?”    
  
Bucky glanced down at the two boxes and his duffel bag and blinked. “Oh, this is it.”   
  
“That’s all?”    
  
Bucky’s face hardened. “Didn’t really have need for a lot of personal effects when I was in the middle of the desert, so.”   
  
“I mean, I know. I just meant it was kinda sad that your whole life can fit into a couple of boxes and a duffel you know,” Steve backtracked, but from the look on Bucky’s face it wasn’t doing him a bit of good. He was fucking this whole thing up.    
  
He hurried to explain himself. “I mean, not your whole life. It’s just the military kind of frowns on individuality. It doesn’t really fit with their whole cog in a machine type deal, so like, not having a lot of personal effects keeps you from being sentimental, you know? Easier to control.”    
  
Bucky looked unimpressed. “Control?”   
  
“Well, maybe not control, but regulate? I just mean the military isn’t super big on free will. They point, you shoot.”    
  
“Right, cogs in the machine and all.” Bucky raised his metal arm and continued, “Robots, if you will.” He snorted a laugh, but it wasn’t funny.    
  
Steve crossed his arms over his chest. “If the shoe fits, and they did a damn good job of making that shoe fit.” He gave a pointed look to Bucky’s arm.     
  
Bucky looked down at his arm and back to Steve. Steve instantly realized his mistake, but it was too late to take it back now, as Bucky was already opening his mouth. “They sure fucking did, huh? I’m just the weapon, so might as well look like one.”   
  
Even knowing he’d crossed a line, Steve couldn’t help but push further. “You said it, not me.”    
  
“Which part? The part where I don’t have anything going on up here except yes, sir, no, sir?” Bucky tapped his head. “The part where I’m just a robot?” He waggled his fingers again. “Or the part where I’m a loaded gun?”   
  
“That’s not what I—”   
  
“It’s what you meant,” Bucky cut him off. “You think I haven’t heard any of this before?”    
  
Steve gritted his teeth. He hadn’t meant to say any of this, but somehow just being near Bucky made him mean and angry and a bitter 12 year old all over again. He searched for something he could say to get them back on solid footing. “Look, I was just saying that the military does some fucked up things to get their soldiers to fall in line. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”   
  
“Hurt my feelings?”   
  
“Offend you, whatever, poor choice of words,” Steve huffed. He pressed his eyes beneath his glasses for a moment before giving Bucky a pleading look. “Please don’t misunderstand me.”   
  
“I understand you just fine. And I hope you won’t misunderstand me when I say that as much as I agree with your opinion on how the military treats its soldiers, as someone who has never been in the military you can take your opinions about it and shove them up your ass.” Bucky gave him an overly cheerful grin.   
  
“Bucky, look, this is all fucked up now, Jesus. I didn’t mean to suggest that you weren’t capable of thinking for yourself or that you’re just some puppet for the government or something.”    
  
“Course you didn’t,” Bucky replied slinging his duffel over his shoulder. “But you did.”    
  
“Hey, that’s not fair! I’m trying to apologize.”    
  
Bucky raised a brow at that. “That usually requires saying sorry, pal.”    
  
“That’s what I’m trying to do!”   
  
“Really? Because all I’ve heard is you trying to say what you didn’t mean to do.”    
  
In the time it took for Steve to take a few deep breaths, Bucky had gathered his other two boxes. “Bucky, can you listen for a minute?”    
  
“It’s nice to be living with you Steve,” Bucky replied and headed for his room.    
  
Steve didn’t bother to try and stop him, choosing instead to glare at his retreating back. Once the door to Bucky’s room was shut Sam reappeared in the living room.    
  
“Well, that didn’t go well.”   
  
Steve glared at him and flung himself on the couch. “You heard all that?”   
  
“Just the important parts.”   
  
“He’s just as much of an asshole as he used to be.”   
  
“Steve, are you serious? Did you hear what you said to him? If he hadn’t already told you to stick your opinions where the sun don’t shine, I would’ve.”    
  
“But Sam,” Steve whined.    
  
“Nope.” Sam shook his head. “That was a fucked up thing to say, Steve. Even if it is true, you had no right to say it to him. Especially to him.”    
  
Steve sighed. “Yeah, I know. I don’t know what came over me. One second we were exchanging awkward pleasantries, and then next, well, you heard the next.”   
  
“And I wish I hadn’t.” Steve peeked up and saw Sam pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m gonna be honest with you here, Steve, what you said, it’s not okay with me at all.”   
  
“Sam, I—” Steve began, but Sam held up a hand and the words died in Steve’s throat.    
  
“Yeah, I know. But I don’t want to hear it right now. You owe us both an apology, but for right now I think we all need to cool down a little. I’m gonna head out.” Sam pushed himself off the couch and headed for the door. “I’ll see you later.”    
  
“Yeah, okay, see you.”    
  
Once Sam was gone, Steve went back into his bedroom and buried himself under the covers. He tried to fall asleep, but his mind was trying to come up with suitable ways to apologize to Sam and Bucky. He hated that he had said anything in the first place, and he hated that Sam had been hurt because of it. 

 

Finally, when his mind had exhausted all possible apologies and he started to drift off. The last thing he thought before he fell completely asleep was, how was it possible that Bucky Barnes was ruining his life for the second time? How was it possible that he was letting it happen again?   
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18133769) is Knifetogunfight's amazing artwork for Steve and Bucky's meeting!


	3. Chapter 3

Bucky sat on the bed and put his head in his hands as he replayed the last ten minutes in his head. Getting roommates was supposed to help him. It was supposed to force him to socialize with  _ people _ other than Tony Stark and his merry band of robots, both human and machine. 

But instead, he’d somehow waltzed into the home of his ex-childhood best friend and therein been humiliated and insulted. Steve fucking Rogers hadn’t changed a damn bit. 

What were the chances he’d end up here? Bucky must have seen at least fifteen apartments before choosing this one. Sam had seemed nice, normal. He was Vet too, and Bucky got the vibe that he wouldn’t push to  _ talk about his feelings _ or some other bullshit his therapist was trying to get him to do.

And then there was that painting. How was it possible that after all this time, Bucky could recognize Steve’s hand? It was utter fucking bullshit. How unfair was it that Bucky had gone to war, lost an arm, stared at a ceiling for the better part of a year, only to finally be given a new chance at life when he got his job at Stark industries,  _ just _ to end up living with his old pal, Steve Rogers.

Bucky pulled out his phone to text Natasha, started a message, thought better of it, and threw the phone onto the bed beside him. He couldn’t go running to Nat every time he hit a snag, and even though this was probably one of the times he was justified in calling her to bitch, he wasn’t sure he was quite ready to talk about it. 

Bucky ran his flesh hand through his hair and then gave it a little tug. There was nothing he could do about the situation right now. He’d signed the lease, and it would take him a while to find a new place. He could probably avoid Steve until then. Sighing, Bucky stood up and opened the box closest to him. Might as well get settled in. 

—

“So, Heavy Metal, what’s got you so down?” Tony rolled his chair across the floor and stopped in front of the table Bucky was currently working at. 

“What do you mean?” Bucky replied without looking up. 

“You’re all—hey you gotta look at me.” Bucky glanced up and Tony made a highly exaggerated sullen face. 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “That’s just my face.” He went back to tweaking with the component for another prototype of his arm. 

“You got me there.” Tony leaned over the table and watched Bucky work for a few long moments before he sang, “So, how’s the new place?”

Bucky set down his things with a groan. There was no way Tony was going to let whatever this was go. 

“It’s fine.” Tony blinked at him and Bucky sighed. “Turns out, I know one of my new roommates.” 

Tony’s face lit up. “Oh, ex-lover? Please tell me it’s an ex.”

“Lover, Tony? Seriously?”

“Whatever, Barnes, I don’t know which way you swing.”

“Both ways.”

Tony gave him a positively lecherous grin. “Is that so?”

At that moment a disembodied voice filled the room. “Sir, I would like to remind you of our sexual harassment policy.”

“Thanks, Jarvis,” Bucky crowed as Tony scowled. 

“I wasn’t sexually harassing him!” Tony shouted at the ceiling before turning to Bucky. “Was I?”  

Bucky shrugged. “Not yet.”

Tony waved a hand as if to reset the conversation. “Anyway, tell me about this roommate.”

“He was my childhood best friend.”

“Huh, that is not as exciting as I thought it would be.”

Bucky gave him a wry smile. “Our friendship didn’t end on the best of terms. We were both young and stupid and said a bunch of shit we shouldn’t have. I thought things would be different after all this time, but it turns out he’s still an asshole.” 

Tony frowned. “What’d he do?”

“Called me a murderbot and implied that I can’t function without good ol’ Uncle Sam punching in orders.”

“Now that’s just insulting to actual robots.”

Bucky glared at him and picked the component back up. 

“You know, if you need a new place, I can find you one.”

Bucky shook his head. “Thanks Tony, but I’ll be okay.” 

Tony nodded. “You let me know if you change your mind,” he called while rolling away. 

By the time Bucky looked up, Tony was already engaged in a heated argument with DUM-E about how to organize the screwdrivers. Bucky couldn’t help but smile as DUM-E hung its head in shame. Tony Stark was absolutely the strangest guy Bucky had ever met, but he was all right, Bucky thought. 

—

Bucky had been lucky enough to avoid Steve on Sunday altogether. But Monday night when he came home, Steve was sitting in their kitchen. Bucky headed straight to his room calling out a gruff “No,” when Steve asked if it was Sam. Bucky had power bars in his duffle bag. That’d be good enough for dinner. 

He knew he couldn’t live off of power bars, and he had no intention of letting Steve Rogers making him feel like a prisoner in his own apartment, but he just wasn’t ready to try and be in the same room with the guy. So for the moment, he made sure to stop by the Stark cafeteria before heading home. The food was free anyhow. 

Still, Bucky was infinitely glad that on Tuesday night when he came home, he found Sam instead of Steve.  

“Hey man,” Sam greeted from the couch when Bucky walked in. 

“Hey.” Bucky stopped in the living room, unsure if he should make small talk or just head to his room. He was standing there awkwardly, half watching the Bulls-Nets game on the TV. 

“You can sit down you know,” Sam said without taking his eyes off the screen. 

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Bucky fumbled and mentally kicked himself. Did he have to be such a fucking disaster?

They watched the game in silence until the end of the second quarter when Sam finally spoke. “So, we really don’t have to talk about this, but I gotta say something.”

Bucky felt a rock of jagged ice settle in his stomach as he waited for Sam to continue.

“I know what Steve said to you and that was fucked up, regardless of whatever weird-ass history y’all got. He definitely owes you an apology, but I want you to feel at home here, so if Steve, or me for that matter, are being assholes, feel free to call us out on it. You live here too, and you deserve to feel comfortable here.” 

Bucky nodded. “Thanks,” he finally let out, little more than a whisper. 

“I’m not gonna try and defend what Steve said, and like I said, I don’t really know about y’alls weird ass history. But he’s a good guy, heart’s usually in the right place, but his mouth usually gets ahead of him.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky replied. And the worst thing was, he really did. 

—

Bucky learned that Steve taught a painting class on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so on those days he didn’t actually dread going home. It’d been two weeks since Bucky had moved in, and he had yet to actually speak to Steve beyond a grunted greeting or "excuse me." Bucky also learned that apparently Friday night was “Roommate bonding night.” The first one he got out of because he’d gotten home so late, and the second one because their old roommate Clint happened to be there and Sam could tell Bucky was wildly uncomfortable. 

Bucky wasn’t exactly anti-social. At least, he’d never been before the Army, and even while he was enlisted he had always been good at making friends. But after he lost his arm he couldn’t find it in him to bother too much with new people. They were going to judge him, pity him, act like they knew him before he even opened his mouth. So usually he steered clear of new people. 

Bucky woke up much too early for a Sunday and decided it was a good idea to go for a run. He threw on some Nike shorts and a Dri-Fit long-sleeved shirt, grabbed his keys, his phone, and his wireless Beats, and was out the door fifteen minutes after he’d woken up. 

His run went as well as could be expected after not training for over two weeks and forgetting to drink any water. Still, his 5K was at 28:03, so not the  _ worst  _ thing he’d ever run. But by the time it was over his quads were on fire and all he wanted to do was lay down somewhere. 

He glanced at a group of runners doing cool down stretches and caught the eye of a tall blond man with his hair pulled back into a bun and biceps that had to be the same size as Bucky’s  _ thighs _ . He was in a deep glute stretch, and Bucky wondered in what other ways the man might be flexible. Bucky didn’t really have a type, but when he went out with men they tended to be smaller than him. But this guy? This guy Bucky would ride into the proverbial sunset singing “Save a Horse” all the way. 

Bucky realized way too late that he was staring because tall, blond, and muscled was staring right back. Bucky felt like a complete creep for staring at this dude’s ass while he was stretching, but blond god didn’t seem to mind. Instead, he was motioning with his head for Bucky to come join them, his smile so friendly Bucky was almost tempted to. 

But then, out of the corner of his eye, something caught his attention. He turned slightly and realized it was a camera flash glinting off of his arm. He didn’t remember doing it, but he must have pushed his sleeves up during his run. Bucky saw a teenager fumble to put their phone away, but it was too late. The teenager looked horrified and then ran off to join their laughing friends. 

Bucky stood rooted to the spot for a moment trying to process what just happened. It wasn’t like he hadn’t gotten looks before. He took care to wear long sleeves whenever it was feasible, and even when it wasn’t. Even if he wasn’t wearing the arm, people still stared. Life was just easier when people weren’t trying to look at what he had, or rather, didn’t have. But the thing was, for a moment, Bucky had forgotten that he was something to be looked at. And remembering that he was always fucking sucked. 

Bucky turned back to the blond hottie and found him looking at him with concern. He raised his eyebrow and nodded towards him as if to ask if Bucky was all right. Bucky appreciated the gesture, but right this second he just needed to get the hell out of there. He gave him a weak smile and the man smiled and waved before Bucky bolted from the park. 

It was a good thing that Bucky was dressed in running clothes, because the way he was sprinting down the sidewalk would have made him look like a criminal in any other situation. By the time he reached the door to his apartment, his flesh hand was shaking and the metal one kept recalibrating. 

He stumbled through the apartment door and headed for his room at break-neck speed. As he rounded the corner to go down the hallway he collided with something warm and solid and very  _ wet _ . 

They both went down from the force of the impact, and Bucky’s heart sank when he realized it was Steve. Of course it was Steve. 

“What the fuck!” Steve shouted. “Didn’t you hear me call out?” 

“I—” Bucky began, but in the end just gestured helplessly to his fallen Beats, still blasting Jay-Z. Steve was still glaring, but Bucky wasn’t paying attention. Because somewhere during the scuffle Steve’s towel had loosened from around his hips and he was sitting completely naked on the floor. And now Bucky could see that Steve was littered with tattoos from his collarbone down to his thighs. They didn’t seem connected, but they didn’t look disjointed either. 

Steve must have realized he was naked a split second after Bucky did, because he gasped and scrambled to cover himself with the towel, scowling at Bucky as he did so. 

Bucky felt guilty about staring for the second time that day. “Sorry,” he murmured as he got to his feet.

“Watch where you’re going next time,” Steve said as he started to get up. Bucky held out a hand towards him when Steve couldn’t figure out how to get up with the towel still attached to his hips.

Steve blinked at the hand in front of him and then up at Bucky with an odd expression on his face. Bucky could have kicked himself. He snatched his metal hand back and hustled down the hall around Steve who was still sitting on the floor. 

In the safety of his room, Bucky let himself curl into a ball on the floor and cry. He had been doing so well, apart from that official meeting with Steve. He had been getting better. And now one fucking teenager and two conversations with Steve Rogers later he was weeping silently into the hardwood floor. He was stupid to think that he could live a normal life, doing normal people things like going for a run or wearing short-sleeved shirts or holding hands. He was stupid for thinking he could get better.

There was a knock at the door and Bucky scrambled away from it and halfway under the bed. 

“Bucky?” The voice was soft and definitely Steve’s. Bucky held his breath and stared at the door, praying to whatever god or deity that was listening that Steve wouldn’t try to open the door. “Bucky, you forgot…” Steve's voice trailed off and Bucky heard him set something down on the ground before his muted footsteps went away. 

Bucky stayed on the ground for a long time, staring at the thin space between the bottom of his door and the floor, wondering why he ever thought this was a good idea. 

—

When Bucky woke up, the sun was low in the sky. His throat felt dry and raw, and his face was tight from his dried tears and itchy from the throw rug he’d fallen asleep on. He pulled himself out from under the bed, but couldn’t bring himself to get up from off the floor. Instead, he rolled over to look at the ceiling. 

Today, he decided, was a Bad Day. He knew that Bad Days were part of the process. His therapist had told him, his group support leader had told him, his mother had told him, but still, every time Bucky had a Bad Day he couldn’t help but feel like he just wasn’t doing something right. Which inevitably led to a spiral. 

Because if Bucky had been a little faster, a little stronger, a little  _ better _ , he wouldn’t be dealing with this. 

Bucky heard footsteps traveling down the hall again. He immediately reached for a gun that wasn’t there, his fingers closing in around air. 

The front door closed and there was a stillness in the apartment that was only broken by Bucky’s breathing. Finally, finally, he managed to pull himself up and sit on the bed. He took a few more calming breaths before he ventured out for water. 

Upon opening the door Bucky found three items placed in front of it: his headphones, a bottle of Purple Rain Gatorade, and one of his power bars. Bucky blinked at the items before grabbing them and retreating back into his room. 

He downed the Gatorade and took a few bites of the protein bar while he replied to the few texts messages Natasha had sent him. She somehow always knew when Bucky wasn’t doing so hot. He refused to think about who had left the Gatorade and the protein bar. 

—

On Monday Bucky felt foggy all throughout the day, but he tried his best to get through it. No one at Stark had seen him on a Bad Day or in the aftermath of it, and he wasn’t about the let them see him now. But from the looks he was getting he was pretty sure his efforts were pointless. Even Stark seemed to give him some space, which was nice, but also kind of made it worse. 

He called his therapist on Sunday and was able to get in a session Monday night, so when he returned home the apartment was thankfully quiet. Bucky went straight to bed and didn’t wake up until the next day. 

Tuesday, Sam was there when Bucky came home. Normally he’d sit and watch whatever Sam had on, make small talk, and trade light barbs. Sam, he was quickly realizing, was almost as much of a pain in the ass as Steve. Once they had gotten past the initial getting to know you stage, their relationship had been built on a solid foundation of ribbing. 

But that night Bucky just didn’t feel up to it. On Wednesday he had another therapy session, and when he’d got home he’d been so exhausted he’d barely acknowledged Sam or Steve’s presence in the living room. The apartment was blessedly empty on Thursday, and by Friday, Bucky was feeling mostly human again.

Friday night there was a knocking on his door. Bucky smiled at the familiar beat and knew it was Sam on the other side. 

“You like pineapple on pizza?” Sam asked when Bucky opened the door. 

“Uh, yeah?”

Sam grinned. “Great, we accidentally ordered a large because we forgot Clint wasn’t here, and I won’t touch the stuff.”

“Uh.”

“Anyway, pizza’s on the way so come on out and help us choose a movie,” Sam called, already turning away. 

“We?”

“Roommate bonding night,” Sam reminded him. “You’re a roommate so you’re gonna bond.”

Bucky could tell there was no way he could get out of this without making things considerably more awkward between them all as he’d already gotten out of two roommate bonding nights. So heaving an over exaggerated sigh, Bucky said, “I guess if I have to come eat pizza and watch a movie I will.”

“Knew you’d see it my way.” 

Logically, Bucky knew that Steve was going to be apart of roommate bonding night, but he still found himself pausing when he entered the living room. Steve looked as happy to see him as Bucky felt. 

“Uh, hey,” Bucky tried.

“Hi,” Steve said looking straight at the TV. 

Sam walked in from the kitchen with a beer and rolled his eyes at the obvious tension in the room. He held out the beer to Bucky. “Want one?” 

Bucky nodded and Sam handed him the bottle. 

“Where’s mine?” Steve whined. 

“Get your own,” Sam replied. 

Steve glared at him before getting up and getting his own beer, muttering under his breath.

“What kind of movies are you into?” Sam asked, sitting down in the armchair. 

Bucky glanced at the couch and realized that with Sam in the chair, the only thing separating him from Steve on the couch was going to be the pathetic distance of the middle seat. Bucky shoved himself into the furthest corner of the couch and answered Sam, “Most stuff, I guess? Not big on war movies,” he finished with a chuckle. 

“Same,” Sam replied, tilting his beer bottle to Bucky in salute. 

Steve came in then, took one look at Sam in the armchair, and seemingly tried to glare his friend to death. In return, Sam smiled sweetly as Steve tried to sit as far as humanly possible from Bucky on the couch. 

“So, short list?” Steve asked, and Sam picked up the remote to run through the Netflix titles on his saved for later list. 

“ _ The Butler _ ,  _ Les Miz _ ,  _ Mission Impossible _ four, and  _ The Man Who Knew Too Much _ .” 

Bucky perked up at the last title and said with a little too much excitement, “I love that movie!” 

Steve threw his head into this hands and groaned, “Oh God.” To which Sam raised a brow. 

Bucky could feel his face flushing and began to absentmindedly rub at his chin as he replied, “I might have made Steve watch that movie a few times.” 

“A few times?” Steve squawked. 

“Maybe a lot?” 

Steve picked his head up to glare at him, but when he spoke it was to Sam. “He made us  _ re-enact _ it.” 

Sam burst out laughing and Bucky couldn’t help but follow suit, suddenly remembering all the times they had traversed across Steve’s living room pretending to be in the far off land of Marrakesh. “And you made a lovely Jo.” 

“Jo?” Sam asked through his chuckles. 

Bucky turned to Sam. “Yup, I’m Dr. Ben McKenna and he’s my wife Jo.” He jerked a thumb at Steve. Steve picked up the nearest pillow and threw it at Bucky’s head. “Hey! It’s not my fault you didn’t want to be Hank!” 

“Hank's a  _ baby, _ ” Steve whined, and for a moment he sounded just like he did almost 20 years ago. “He’s annoying.” 

Bucky had to give him that. 

There was a buzzing that signaled the arrival of the pizza, and Sam got up to buzz the delivery person up. 

“Okay, we are definitely watching that movie,” Sam said as he moved back into the living room. “I’ve never seen it.”

“A tragedy,” Bucky replied, just as Steve said, “Lucky for you.”

Bucky turned to Steve and said, “I thought you liked that movie?” 

Steve's face went a little soft then. “Yeah, Buck,  _ like _ . It’s a good movie, but it’s no  _ Mulan _ .” 

Bucky had to laugh at that.  

“Okay, let’s do this,” Sam said and clicked on the movie. The movie started up, and out of habit, Bucky began to mutter the lines under his breath. To his left, he could hear Steve saying Jo’s lines. 

“Oh great, now there’s  _ two _ of you,” Sam groaned.

“What do you mean?” Bucky asked. 

Sam glared at Steve as he spoke. “He recites the lines for basically any movie he’s seen more than twice.”  

Bucky raised his eyebrows at Steve and Steve shrugged. “Old habits die hard, I guess.” 

Bucky turned back to the movie and wondered if Steve had kept up their “game" all these years. 

When they were young, Bucky had developed the "game" that had started with the movie they were currently watching. It was a simple game. Whoever could say the most lines without messing up won. Bucky had made it up after Steve explained that part of his speech therapy was reading aloud, because he guessed Steve had an easier time saying words he didn’t come up with himself. 

Bucky had figured reading out loud and saying lines were about the same thing, so the game had come about. Steve had always had a competitive streak a mile wide, and Bucky knew after that first day they played when Bucky had beaten him good and solid and all the while Steve complained that it wasn’t fair because he’d only seen the movie  _ once _ , that Steve was on board. 

And he was right. The next day after school, Steve had come over and grabbed the copy of  _ The Man Who Knew Too Much _ and dragged Bucky back to his own house and sat down with such a look of determination on his face, Bucky had almost let him win. But he didn’t. 

After that they did it with any movie they liked. Bucky never told him the real reason why he had invented the game, and eventually he forgot about it himself. But they kept playing. It was kind of nice to see that Steve apparently still had the habit. 

They ate and drank, and Bucky was finally feeling at ease. He and Steve were thoroughly enjoying annoying Sam as they increasingly dramatized the lines. By the time Steve and Bucky performed an off-key duet rendition of “Que Sera,” Sam was face down groaning into the armchair pillow. 

When the movie was over and Sam was bemoaning how annoying they were and how this was a weird movie for a kid to like so much, Steve shot Bucky a smile that Bucky didn’t ever think he’d get to see again. It made his stomach flutter, and he knew that the smile on his own face was probably a bit too wide but he didn’t care.

But clearly Bucky wasn’t meant to have good things, because somehow during the course of their discussion of the movie, Bucky and Steve had started to argue. At first, it seemed innocent enough, just a simple misunderstanding, but before Bucky could say boo, Steve was red in the face with anger, all but shouting at Bucky, and Sam was trying to get them both to calm down. 

Bucky’s metal arm kept recalibrating as he flexed it, a nervous habit he had developed not long after getting the arm. 

“Oh, what’re you gonna hit me?” Steve asked, looking pointedly at Bucky’s fist. “That all you know how to do?”

“That’s fucking rich coming from you,” Bucky bit out. “You’d fight the goddamn sky if it looked at you wrong.” 

“Yeah, because I’m such a weird fucking freak, is that it?” 

“Well, you’re certainly fucking acting like one!”

“Jesus, fuck!” Sam shouted, startling them both. “I can’t deal with y’all’s nonsense. Punch each other, kill each other, I don’t care. Just clean up the blood when you’re done.” Sam stalked off to his bedroom and closed the door quietly. It was so much worse than if he had slammed it. Bucky felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He didn’t even know what he and Steve were fighting about at this point. 

Steve looked at Sam’s closed door and let out a noise of frustration before heading to his own room without another word. 

Bucky cleaned up the bottles and pizza boxes. He turned off the TV and the lights before heading to bed himself. Once under the covers he opened up Craigslist and clicked on “Apartments.” 


	4. Chapter 4

Steve didn’t know what had come over him. One minute he was laughing and joking with Sam and Bucky, and the next thing he was shouting and just so goddamn angry. He knew he had started it, couldn’t even remember why, but he was sure that whatever it was it wasn’t worth the guilt he felt now. Bucky honestly hadn’t done anything wrong, not really, and Steve had just…blown up. He could admit that he had been out of line. 

He knew that it was wrong to blame this Bucky for what 13-year-old Bucky had said, but he had a hard time separating the two. But then Steve remembered the look on Bucky’s face that day they had knocked into each other. He had only ever seen Bucky that scared two times in his life; the first was when Bucky had gotten into a fight at school and was scared to go home and face his parents, and the second time was when Steve had been sick in 3rd grade with bronchitis and pneumonia. 

And the way he had snatched his hand back, like…like he was ashamed. Steve had made him feel like that. 

The whole thing just made him so disgusted with himself, seeing as he never even apologized for the first shitty thing he had said, and now he had to apologize for a second thing. Why did everything between him and Bucky Barnes have to be so complicated? 

The next morning someone knocked on his bedroom door and then opened it. 

“Come out to the living room,” Sam said and then left before Steve could protest. In all honesty, Steve had known this was coming, and he didn’t actually have anything to say to fight Sam on this. 

Steve came out, keeping his head down. Bucky was sitting in the armchair, so Steve sat on the couch. Sam did not sit. 

“This isn’t working,” Sam announced. Steve looked up and saw Sam holding out a hand at Bucky to stop him from saying whatever he was planning on saying. “I still don’t know what happened between y’all over  _ ten years ago _ , and at this point, I honestly don’t care. But I am tired of living with this thing hanging overhead, so y’all better work this out. I’m going to my mom’s for the week, and if by the time I get back if y’all haven’t figured this out, someone’s moving out. Probably me." 

Sam picked up a duffel bag by his feet and headed to the door. Steve got up and followed him. 

“Sam,” Steve began, but Sam gave him such a fierce look the words died in Steve’s throat. 

“I’m not your momma or your therapist Steve,” Sam said. “I’m your friend, and as a friend I’m telling you to get your shit together, man.”

“I’m sorry, Sam, really.” 

“Are you? Because you keep saying it and then doing the exact same shit,” Sam told him. “I love you man, but whatever you got going on with Barnes is some absolute nonsense. And he doesn’t deserve it.” 

Steve sighed. “I know. I’m—”

“Sorry?” 

Steve hung his head, unwilling for Sam to see the shame that had risen to his cheeks. “I’m gonna make this right,” Steve whispered.

Sam leaned over and put a hand on Steve’s shoulder and Steve looked up. “I hope you will. For both y’alls sake.” With that Sam shouldered his bag and left. 

Steve took a deep breath and turned around to head back into the living room, hoping Bucky was still there. Sam was right, Bucky didn’t deserve this, and neither did Sam for that matter. 

Bucky was standing and shifting from foot to foot when Steve came back into the room. 

“I’ll move out,” Bucky said quickly, staring at the ground. “I’ll be out before Sam comes back. I’m sorry I caused such tension between you two.” 

Before Steve could say anything, Bucky hastened to his room and closed the door behind him. And Steve didn’t do anything to stop him. 

There it was, a shiny solution to his shitty situation. Bucky would move out, Steve could tell Sam he’d tried to work it out, but in the end they both decided that it was best if Bucky left. Sure, Sam might be disappointed, but he’d get over it eventually. They’d get a new roommate and everything would go back to normal and he could forget about Bucky Barnes once and for all. 

It would be so easy. 

Steve flopped down on the couch, suddenly exhausted. He took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting back tears. It would be easy, but it wouldn’t be right. He remembered something his mom used to say to him, usually when he’d come home bloody and bruised or seething and furious at the world. We can’t be perfect, but we can do the right thing, even if it hurts. 

He wondered what she would say to him if she could see him now. 

—

Peggy called him that night. No doubt because Sam had messaged her.

“So, what’s going on?”

“I messed up. Big time,” Steve sighed into the phone. “And at this point, I’m not even sure I can fix it.”

“I’m sure it can’t be as bad as that, can it?”

“It sure feels that way.”

“Well, what have you tried to make it right?” Steve was silent and he heard Peggy sigh. “Oh, Steve.”

“I know,” Steve said, fighting back tears for the second time that day. “I’ve been such a dick, Pegs, and I know it. I should have apologized a long time ago, but now I’m afraid it’s too late.” 

“Darling, it’s never too late to do the right thing,” she told him. “Maybe they’ll forgive you and maybe they won’t, but you’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t own up to it.”

Steve rolled over on his bed and closed his eyes. “I know. Thanks, Pegs.”

“You’re welcome,” Peggy replied. “Now, tell me about this painting that’s been giving you such a hard time.”

—

Steve had a small studio space that he rented out at a deep discount because he taught community classes. Because of the nature of his job, his summers were much longer than normal educators, so he had about four months free to paint until he went back to work in the fall and it would be meetings, courses, lectures, and planning for a month straight. So with the money he saved teaching painting classes and selling canvases, he could afford to take off a couple of months teaching at the community center as well, giving him plenty of time to paint for himself. 

He normally had a few canvases going at once, but recently he’d gotten stuck on one, and was unable to start anything serious since the block had begun. He knew it was just a part of the creative cycle, but it was still frustrating as hell. He’d spent all Monday organizing and reorganizing his paints and brushes and just staring at the canvas. So on Tuesday he decided to give himself a break and didn’t go into the studio at all. Instead, he deep cleaned the apartment. By the time he was finished he was starving, so he ordered enough Chinese food for three people and settled in on the couch. 

Steve had just settled down with his feast spread out on the coffee table when the door opened. 

Bucky walked in and did a double take, clearly not expecting Steve to be there. To be fair, Steve normally wasn’t there on Tuesdays and Thursdays. 

“Hi,” Bucky said quickly, and then started for his room. 

Steve couldn’t let things go on like this. He had to say something. “Bucky, wait!” Steve called and Bucky stopped dead in his tracks. He turned slowly to Steve. “Do you want some Chinese food? I kinda ordered a bit too much.”

Bucky eyed the spread but shook his head. “Uh, no thanks I already ate.” At that moment Bucky’s stomach gave a loud gurgle. 

Steve raised a brow and Bucky looked mortified. 

“You sure about that?” Steve asked, trying not to laugh. 

“Shut up,” Bucky murmured. 

Steve gestured to the couch and motioned Bucky over. “Come on and eat. We need to have a talk, so might as well do it on a full stomach.” 

Bucky looked between the food and then to the hall leading to his bedroom, and for a moment Steve thought he was just going to run. But then Bucky sighed and his shoulders drooped as he walked towards the couch. 

“All right,” he agreed, sitting down. 

“Oh, let me get some plates.” Steve got up and hurried to the kitchen, grabbing two plates and some spoons to dish the food out. 

“Were you really planning on eating all this food?” Bucky called from the living room.

“I was hungry,” Steve said defensively as he came back into the living room. “I cleaned the apartment all day.” 

“Day off?”

“Nah, school’s out, so I won’t be back on a normal schedule until fall. I don’t teach at the community center either, so I can focus on my own painting,” Steve said watching Bucky dish the smallest portions of rice and meat with narrowed eyes. 

“School gets out in April now?”

“I’m adjunct, so my hours are a bit different,” Steve explained, picking up the rice container and shoving more food onto Bucky’s plate. Bucky looked up at him, looking a little helpless. “Eat.” 

“What if I’m watching my carb intake?” 

“Are you?”

Bucky gazed at him for a moment longer before glancing away. “No.”

Steve grinned and piled some beef with broccoli on his own plate before dishing some out for Bucky. “So, uh, you work for Stark, right?” 

“Yeah. He’s a little weird, but a good guy. Spends more time talking to his robots than people mostly. Although it’s usually more arguing than talking,” Bucky chuckled.

Steve did a double take at that. “Wait, are you saying you work  _ with _ Tony Stark?” 

“Uh, yeah?” Bucky paused, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. 

“That’s…wow. That’s really cool. How did that come about?” 

“Internship for vets program,” Bucky said, swirling his food around. “Stark took me on full time after it was over.” 

“That’s awesome,” Steve said, and then, “But I heard Stark paid his employees like, double starting salary for their position, even the cleaning staff. Is that not true?” Steve really hoped it was because it was the one thing he liked about Tony Stark. 

Bucky blinked at him. “I mean, yeah, but why…?”

“Oh, I just thought because you’re living with roommates…” Steve trailed off and immediately realized how inappropriate his question was. “I mean, I figured if you were living with two roommates it was out of necessity?” 

Bucky turned back to his food, and when he spoke it was very quiet. “I can afford to live on my own. My therapist suggested living with roommates. Said it would help with…stuff.” 

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Steve had royally fucked up. More than he could have ever imagined. Living with roommates was supposed to be a part of Bucky’s therapy and he had gotten saddled with  _ Steve _ ? Who had been nothing but inhospitable since the day Bucky had walked through the door. Jesus. 

The silence had gone on too long and was growing uncomfortable. So Steve asked something neutral, “So, what exactly do you do with Stark?” 

“I work in his robotics lab, but I don’t work with the traditional robots.”

“Traditional robots?” 

“Yeah, you know, like the Jetsons type stuff. That’s more Tony’s area.” 

“So, what do you do?” 

“Well,” Bucky said, transferring his plate to his right hand. “This.” He held out his metal arm, eyes fixed on his flexing fingers. 

Steve couldn’t contain his gasp. “Wait, you mean you made this?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky answered softly. “More Tony than me, but yeah.” 

Steve winced as he remembered what he had said about the arm. Could he have been anymore insensitive? He didn’t even know how Bucky lost the arm to begin with, and then he’d insulted it on top of everything. The longer this conversation went the worse Steve felt. He had to apologize before it got any worse. 

Steve set his plate down and turned to face Bucky more fully. “Bucky, I need to apologize.” 

“You don’t have to Steve.” 

“Yes, I do. When you first moved in, I said some fucked up things to you, and that wasn’t right. And I should have said it sooner, but I—well it doesn’t matter. There’s no excuse.” 

“I wasn’t exactly at my best either,” Bucky pointed out.

Steve shook his head. “You had every right to be a dick to me. I was awful.”

A wry grin slid over Bucky's face. “Yeah, you really were.” 

Steve had to laugh at that. “You never did pull your punches.” 

“Only when I didn’t need to,” Bucky replied. 

“But let me say, Bucky, I am so sorry for all the things that I said to you. You didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry for being a shitty roommate and making you feel uncomfortable here. I know that an apology can’t fix everything, and you have every right to tell me to fuck off, but I hope you accept it. And if you don’t, I understand.” 

Bucky was quiet for a moment, his face twisting into a grimace. “You’re right,” Bucky finally said, and Steve’s heart sank. “I could tell you to fuck off, but honestly? I don’t want to. It wouldn’t do either of us any good hanging on to that after all this time." 

Steve let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Bucky, really.” 

Bucky nodded and went back to eating. 

“Can we try again?” Steve asked suddenly. “At re-introducing ourselves, I mean?” 

Bucky didn’t miss a bit. “Sure,” he said,  setting down his plate and sticking his hand out. “Hey Steve, long time no see. It’s your old pal, Bucky Barnes. Except I went to war and now I’ve got a super cool robot arm.” 

Steve took the hand and shook it. “It’s great to see you, Bucky Barnes. That’s a really cool robot arm. I can talk now if you haven’t noticed.”

“You could always talk,” Bucky pointed out, a little soft. 

“Yeah, I guess I could.” Steve stopped shaking Bucky’s hand, but he didn’t let go. They stayed like that for a bit longer than was necessary, before Steve finally cleared his throat and Bucky dropped his hand. 

“Are you really going to move out?” 

Bucky sighed. “It would probably be for the best.” 

“Don’t,” Steve said quickly. “I mean, I know this is kind of all my fault, but I’d like it if you stayed, I think.”

“You think?”

“I would. I would definitely like it if you stayed. And I know Sam would too. He likes you, you know. More than me right now.” 

“Well, what’s not to like?” Bucky asked with a grin. Steve rolled his eyes and snorted, and Bucky continued, “But I’m just not sure it’s the smartest thing.” 

“Please,” Steve tried. “I know you don’t owe me anything, and I know that I probably don’t deserve a second chance, but I would really like to make this up to you, and I would really like to get to know you again. And if it doesn’t work  _ I’ll _ move out.” 

Bucky looked at him for a long time, the longest Steve had ever seen him look anyone in the eye since he’d moved in, and Steve felt stricken with how much Bucky’s eyes had actually changed since the last time he’d seen him. They were still beautiful, a clear steel blue that Steve had often tried to recreate in color but never got right. But they were sadder, a little harder, older, a little dimmer. Steve’s heart hurt a bit at the sight of them. 

“You’re serious,” Bucky announced finally. 

Steve nodded. “Yeah, I really am.” 

“Okay.”

“For real?”

“Did you want me to say no?”

“No!” Steve said a little too quickly. “I was just surprised is all. I’m glad. Thanks for giving me a second chance.”

“Well,” Bucky said, picking his food back up. “Thanks for giving me a second chance, too.” 

—

Steve didn’t expect for him and Bucky to fall back in with each other at all, or even if they did, he didn’t expect it to happen right away. But that’s exactly what happened. 

After they had their little heart to heart, Steve had called Sam and told him everything between him and Bucky was good now. Sam was skeptical, which was fair, but all his doubts went out the window when he came home and found Steve and Bucky playing some mutation of a game that involved Uno cards and checkers. 

“I got sick a lot when we were kids,” Steve explained when Sam had walked in and asked what the hell they were doing 

“So we made up a bunch of new games to pass the time,” Bucky finished. 

Sam looked between Steve and Bucky and their twin expressions of seriousness said, “Oh no,” and backed out the room. Later he came back to learn the rules. 

It was easy with Bucky, Steve found. It wasn’t just like when they were kids, Bucky was a quieter now, laughed less, but still gave at least an appreciative smile whenever Steve said something that he thought was funny.  But the great thing about Bucky being a little quieter was that now when Steve didn't want to talk, when he felt like all the words buzzing his head were stuck in his throat and there was no way they could ever unstick, he could sign to Bucky, and Bucky wouldn't ask him to vocalize. He would just sign back. It was an unexpected relief. For both of them, Steve thought

Bucky still had days where he went straight to his room, couldn't do much more than grunt when he saw Sam or Steve. And Steve got it, as much as he could ever get what Bucky was going through based off of the last ten years with Sam. On those days, Steve tried to use sign as much as possible, even if Sam did think it was unhelpful. 

They never really talked about anything serious, and Bucky had not once asked what had happened when they were kids. But Steve never brought it up either. Maybe it wasn’t that big of a deal to Bucky. He probably had bigger things to worry about then why he and his childhood best friend stopped being friends. 

“So no Bucky today?” Sam asked when Steve met Sam and Clint at the farmer’s market one Sunday. 

“Bucky?” Clint asked through a mouthful of honeycomb procured from the honey stand they were standing in front of. 

Sam frowned at the string of honey that was currently making its way down Clint’s chin. He gestured at it as he said, “Yeah, our new roommate? You know Steve’s childhood best friend? The one that's been living with us for like two months?"

Clint swiped at the honey, doing more harm than good. “I thought you guys hated each other.” Mercifully the stall worker handed Clint a wet wipe. 

“Well, it was more like Steve hated him.”

“Oh, yeah! You were a huge dick,” Clint said, cleaning himself up. 

“What else is new?” Steve grumbled, moving onto the next stall. 

“You were a huge dick, Steve.”

Steve rounded on them. “I know, and I apologized. We’re good now.”

“When did that happen?” Clint asked. 

“Maybe like three weeks ago?” Sam said. “And they’ve been practically joined at the hip ever since.” 

“Aw, are you jealous?” Steve sang. He sidled up closer to Sam and fluttered his eyelashes like a Southern Belle. “You know you’re the only one for me, honey.” 

Sam snorted and Clint whined, “I’m jealous.” 

Steve laughed. “Did you want some sugar, too?” 

“No,” Clint huffed, pout firmly on his face. “You guys never tell me anything. How come I’m only hearing about this now?” 

“Yes we do,” Sam protested. “You just don’t listen!” 

“I’m deaf!” Clint protested. 

_ We had this conversation in sign _ Steve signed with an amused look. 

“Oh.” Clint turned back around and started walking away. “My bad.” 

Sam rolled his eyes at Steve and they started after him. 

“So, what’s this Bucky guy like?” Clint asked when they caught up with him. 

“He’s cool,” Sam said, “Obviously working on some stuff, but he seems like a good guy. But he and Steve are hella annoying when they get around each other.” 

“Hey!” Steve protested. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“That y’all act like you’re five.” 

“We do not,” Steve grumbled, even though he knew it was true. 

Sam raised his eyebrows. “You built a fort.”

“You built a fort!” Clint squawked. “How come  _ we  _ never built a fort?” 

Steve patted Clint on the arm. “Next time you come over we can build another fort.” Then he turned to Sam. “See? Forts are cool. You’re just lame.” 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Whatever, man. In any case," he turned to Clint, "I think you’d like Bucky. He was a sniper, so you’d probably have something to talk about.”

“He was?” Steve asked, a little dumbfounded. But Sam didn’t answer him because he was currently in a heated conversation with Clint about how shooting a gun and shooting an arrow were completely different things. 

Not for the first time, Steve was hit with how little he knew about Bucky’s life after he’d moved to Indiana and up until he’d moved in. Bucky was fine talking about things that he was doing right now, or things about their childhood, but Steve never got to hear about anything in between. 

But Sam did. 

It kind of stung to know that Sam knew things about Bucky that Steve didn’t. But then again Steve could see why Bucky had told Sam. Sam had been in the Army too, and they probably had a lot of things in common that Steve couldn’t understand. Besides, Steve hadn’t exactly earned or deserved Bucky’s trust. 

Steve realized that Sam and Clint had wandered away and hurried to catch up with them. There was no use fretting over what was and wasn’t with Bucky. It was a nice day, Steve was at the Farmer’s Market with two of his best friends, and he didn’t have to go to work tomorrow. What more could he ask for? 


	5. Chapter 5

Bucky started working out again. Usually he’d use the gym at work before coming home, but on the weekends he tried to get back into running. After the minor setback with the teenager, Bucky had thought he’d never run outside again, but after talking with his therapist about it, he decided to give it another shot. 

That was how he met Thor. 

Thor was the runner Bucky had ogled while he’d been stretching on the day of the incident. While Bucky had been cooling down in the shade, Thor had spotted him and jogged over to introduce himself. He told Bucky he’d seen him around a few times and asked if he’d like to join his group for his cool down. Thor was a personal trainer and led a yoga class that a lot of runners joined after their runs in the park. 

Feeling a bit bold that day, Bucky had said fuck it and joined in. After Thor ended the class, Bucky and him had exchanged numbers. Bucky hadn’t really thought of it as anything more than a potential client on Thor’s end, or maybe a friendship, but after that first text Bucky realized how wrong he’d been.

Thor had asked him out. On a date. On a date with romantic intent. Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on a date. He had told Thor as much and asked if he could get back to him on that. Thor, being the gentleman that he was, had been really understanding and said there were no hard feelings either way, and he hoped Bucky would still join his yoga class after his run. 

Bucky met Natasha at a Russian bakery and deli she liked down near Brighton Beach. He was pretty sure it was one of those don’t ask, don’t tell type of deals, based on the number of suited (both track and three piece) men he saw going in and out of the place. He didn’t ask, and Natasha didn’t tell. The place had the best zefir Bucky had ever had, and Bucky wasn’t about to fuck that up. 

“So,” Natasha began, sipping her tea. “What’s new with you?" 

“I got asked on a date,” Bucky said in a rush. “And I don’t know what to say.” 

Natasha didn’t miss a beat. “What do you want to say?”

“Yes?” 

“Then why don’t you?”

Bucky sighed. “You know why, Natasha.” 

She gave him a knowing smile. “I do, but I want to hear you say it.” 

“Because I haven’t been on a date in like what, six years? Because I’ve got PTSD and a metal arm?” 

“James,” she said seriously. “None of those things are any reason for you to  _ not _ to go on a date.”

“I know,” Bucky sighed and glanced at the ceiling. “But I’m scared.” 

“That’s fine. It’s normal to be scared. But you can’t let that rule your life.” 

“I know, I know, that’s what my therapist says to me like, every day.” 

“That’s because it’s true.” 

Bucky picked at his apple zefir. “What if he thinks my arm is weird?” 

Natasha laughed at that. “James, I hate to break it to you, but your arm isn’t exactly subtle. He knows what he’s getting into.” 

“But what if he doesn’t like me?”

“Then he has good taste,” Natasha replied. 

He glared at her. “Why did I ever come to you for advice?” 

“Because you have good taste.” She leaned over a plucked his raspberry zefir from his plate. Ignoring his indignant “Hey!” she broke off a piece and handed it back to him. “Say yes to the date James. If you don’t like him, well then I guess you’ll have to start running a treadmill.”

“I guess that wouldn’t be the worst thing,” Bucky mumbled. At least the gym had air conditioning. 

“Or is there something else holding you back?” Natasha said in a way that Bucky knew meant he didn’t want to hear what came next. 

Bucky scowled as Natasha pointedly didn’t look at him. “I told you, it’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Nat, he apologized. We talked. We worked things out. It’s fine. We’re  _ friends _ .”

At that, Natasha did look up and Bucky wished she hadn’t. “James,” she began.

“No,” he cut her off, shaking his head. “I don’t want to hear it. Whatever it is you’re about to say, I already  _ know _ .” 

“I know, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t hear it.” 

“Nat, please.”

She sighed and set her fork down. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt. You still don’t even know what happened when you were kids.”

“I know, but is it really that important? It’s been, like, 15 years.” 

“Yeah, but clearly Steve’s got some unresolved issues with you, otherwise why would he have reacted the way he did when you moved in?” 

Bucky wished he could find some fault in her argument, but honestly there wasn’t any. But what he and Steve had now was good. He had never told anyone, but he had missed Steve ever since they had parted ways. Maybe not with the same intensity as when it first happened. He remembered going home that day after Steve told him he hated him and crying so much his eyes had swollen shut. His parents had thought it was just because he was upset they were moving. He never told them what Steve had said, and he had a feeling Steve never told his mother what happened either, based off of how his own mother had nagged him to go see Steve and apologize for whatever he did. Because of course it had to be Bucky’s fault. 

Maybe it was. 

As he got older, the fierceness of his loneliness without Steve had lessened, filled with girls and boys and school. It wasn’t until he was deployed that he somehow felt that old familiar ache. What would Steve say if he could see him now? he had wondered. Then sometime later he learned that Steve’s mom had died. His mother had gone to the funeral, but Steve hadn’t been there. Bucky had wished he could have gone home and found Steve and…he really didn’t know. He had just wanted to see him.

But now, things weren't normal, but they were getting there. He liked being around Steve and Steve seemed to like being around him. They were friends again, and for the first time in a long time Bucky felt like his life was going in a direction he wanted it to. He had a good job that he liked, his flashbacks were getting better, he slept most nights, crowds were okay most days, he liked his roommates, and he just got asked out on a date by one of the most attractive people he’d ever seen. Things were  _ good _ . He didn’t see any reason to change anything by bringing up old feelings, or new for that matter. 

He just wanted to hang onto this a little longer. 

“You’re right,” Bucky finally said. “But I’m just not ready to talk about it, and neither is he, seeing as he’s never brought it up.”

Natasha studied him for a long moment, something Bucky hated when she did. She never blinked and her eyes seemed to be able to read every single thought Bucky had ever had. “Just be careful.” 

“Yeah. Thanks for looking out for me, Nat.” 

She simply nodded and went back to eating his zefir. 

—

“Okay, Bucky, you can do this. It’s just a phone call. For a date. With a man who looks like a Norse god. No big deal.” Bucky’s thumb hovered over Thor’s contact name. He groaned, locked the phone, and threw himself back into his chair.  

“All good, Buckaroo?” Tony asked, walking into the office. He had grease streaked down his face, but he was wearing a bespoke suit. 

“Where were you?” Bucky asked. 

“Press conference,” Tony said, shrugging out his jacket. “Why?”

“Was Pepper there?” 

Tony huffed. “Am I not the boss here? Do I not ask the questions? Can’t I hold press conferences?”

“So, she wasn’t there?” Bucky guessed, smirking at the reaming he knew Tony was in for later. 

“What’s it to you?” Tony asked. “Weren’t you about to make a personal call during work hours?” 

“It’s my break.” 

“Oh. Who are you calling?” 

“A guy asked me out,” Bucky admitted. “And I told him I’d think about it, and I have, and now I’m not sure how to tell him I would like to go out.” 

“That’s easy. Just be honest,” Tony said, pulling out his own ringing phone. “Send him an eggplant emoji and a thumbs up.” Bucky rolled his eyes as Tony answered the phone. “Hey, Pep—No, I’m allowed to—I  _ what _ ?” 

Bucky chuckled and watched as Tony hurried into his office. So, Tony hadn’t been very helpful. But Bucky thought the basis of his idea was probably a good place to start. Be honest. Bucky picked up his phone and hit Thor’s name before he could change his mind. 

“Hello?” a deep voice greeted. 

“Hi, Thor?”

Bucky could practically hear the smile in Thor’s voice as he answered, “Hi, Bucky! How are you?” 

“I’m doing good, thanks, how about you?” 

“Great! I’m pleased to hear from you.” 

Bucky took a deep breath and said, “Right, so about that offer for a date…I was wondering if it was still on the table?” 

“It is,” Thor replied. “I hope this call is to tell me that you’d like to accept.”

Bucky chuckled. “Yeah, it is.” 

“That’s wonderful to hear,” Thor said, and truly it sounded like it was. “Do you drink?” 

“Yeah, I do.” 

“Great! There’s a nice bar I know with a very good stout if you’re into that sort of thing. It’s more on the casual side, a little quieter, but it has a great atmosphere. Does that sound like something you’d enjoy?”  

“That sounds great,” Bucky said, and honestly it did. “How’s Friday night?” 

“Is eight alright with you?” Thor asked. 

“Sounds good. I can meet you there if you send me the address.” 

“Wonderful! I’ll text you the address. I’m really looking forward to seeing you,” Thor told him.

“Me too,” Bucky admitted. “See you Friday.”

They hung up, and just as they did Tony came out of his office. 

“Pepper wasn’t there. I had grease on my face. She said I looked like I had been in a mugging and stole this suit. I accidentally said the wrong date for the release of our new software. Pepper is very mad.” 

“Buy her an island,” Bucky deadpanned without looking up from his phone. 

“Perfect,” Tony muttered and wandered away. 

“Get her flowers you idiot!” Bucky called to Tony’s already retreating back. Bucky wasn’t sure if Tony heard him or not. “Jarvis, what is Tony looking up right now?”

“Private islands for sale, Sergeant Barnes.” 

Bucky groaned and hurried over to save Tony from himself. 

—

On Friday night Steve walked into Bucky’s room looking at his phone and said, “Sam is insisting we watch  _ The Artist _ , like who the fuck wants to watch that more than once? I mean, I get it, the cinematography or whatever, but come on. There’s no words.”

Steve finally looked up at Bucky and stopped short. “Are you going somewhere?” 

Bucky felt his cheeks heat up. “Uh, yeah. Sorry, I forgot to mention it.” 

“Oh, that’s cool,” Steve said. “Where you headed?"

“Well,” Bucky said, taking a deep breath. “I’m going on a date.” It still felt a little weird to say that out loud. 

“A date?” Suddenly Sam appeared in the doorway. “That’s awesome man!” 

“Oh, yeah, that’s great,” Steve said, but his voice sounded a little off. “Have fun.”

“Sorry, I forgot about roommate bonding.”

“It’s all good man,” Sam told him. “How did y’all meet? Where are y’all going? What do they look like?”

“Sam,” Steve hissed, rounding around to glare at him. 

Sam chuckled and held his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Bucky laughed. “We’re just going out for drinks. We both run in the park, so we’d just seen each other around.” 

“Man,” Sam grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. “I never meet girls when I’m running.” 

“Helps that he’s not a girl,” Bucky said casually, holding his breath for their reaction. 

“That does help,” Sam agreed. 

“He’s not?” Steve asked in a strangled voice. 

Bucky turned his gaze to him. “Is that a problem?” 

“Sorry, I guess I just never realized you were queer, too.”

Bucky’s brain stuttered over the ‘too,’ but he managed to get out “I’m bi,” on autopilot.

“Oh, right,” Steve said, cheeks red and looking away. “Me, too.” 

“Oh, cool,” Bucky replied, desperately wishing his brain would come back online, but the sight of Steve blushing and looking downright embarrassed for seemingly no reason was not helping at all. 

“Well, good luck on your date, man,” Sam said when the silence had gone on for a tad too long. He grabbed Steve by the elbow and started out of the room. “We won’t wait up.” 

Bucky let out a weak laugh. “I’m sure I’ll be back before you even finish picking a movie.” 

They left, shutting the door behind them. Bucky could hear a heated discussion happening, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. Probably something about what movie to watch. 

When he left the apartment, they were still arguing about what movie to watch, but they stopped for a moment to wish him luck. Bucky thanked them and left. 

The bar Thor had chosen wasn’t too far from home, just a couple of stops on the Q. Bucky arrived about 15 minutes early and was surprised to find that Thor had as well. They greeted each other with a quick hug and headed inside. 

“I was a tad nervous,” Thor admitted when they sat down. 

Bucky had to laugh. “Yeah, me too. I know I said I haven’t been on a date in a while, but really it’s been like six years.” 

If Thor thought that was pathetic, which Bucky wouldn’t blame him for, he didn’t let it show. “Well, I’m glad you decided to agree to one with me.” 

They shared a smile before the server brought over their drinks and wings. Thor was surprisingly easy to talk to, despite the formal way he spoke. Bucky learned that he’d grown up in Norway (which did little to dissuade Bucky from thinking he was, in fact, a Norse god), he had an older sister and a younger brother. He said their relationship was complicated, which Bucky understood. He enjoyed his job as a personal trainer, but said that he knew he couldn’t do it forever. 

“Why not?” Bucky asked. 

“Unfortunately, I do have obligations back in Norway,” Thor explained. “Nothing I need to worry about right at the moment, but there will come a time when I must to do what is expected of me.” 

Bucky didn’t really understand that, and he didn’t really want to push, so he changed the subject. 

The conversation flowed as easily as the drinks, and Bucky could feel himself opening up with the tipsier he got. They talked for longer than Bucky thought was possible, and by the time he looked at his phone when Thor got up to use the restroom, he realized it was nearing midnight. 

When Thor returned from the bathroom, Bucky decided to call it a night. 

Outside the bar, they both lingered. Bucky couldn’t believe how nice a time he had had, and he told Thor as much. 

“I’m really glad you called,” Thor replied. 

“I’m really glad I called too.” Bucky grinned, a bit drunk and a bit stupid with the idea that Thor liked him. Trying his luck, Bucky stepped into Thor’s space and titled his head up. Thor closed the distance between them, and the next thing he knew Bucky was wrapping his arms around Thor’s neck and trying to climb him like a jungle gym. 

Feeling bold Bucky asked “Do you want to take me home?” when they broke apart for air. 

Thor placed a chaste kiss on Bucky’s lips before separating himself a bit; not so much that Bucky had to let go, but enough that their dicks weren’t touching. “I would like nothing more,” Thor admitted, and Bucky heard the but before it came. He tried to step away, but Thor held firm. “But we’ve both had a bit too much to drink, and I’d much rather take you up on that offer when we’re both sober.”

Bucky sighed and leaned his forehead against Thor’s shoulder. He knew Thor was right, but damnit, he didn’t want him to be. “Yeah, okay,” Bucky breathed. 

“But another kiss wouldn’t be remiss.” 

Bucky looked up and Thor was grinning down at him, eyes shining with mirth. Bucky couldn’t help the dopey smile that made its way onto his lips as he surged up to kiss Thor again. 

When Bucky got home he was still pleasantly buzzed. Sam and Steve were still up, watching a political talk show, and Steve was looking like he was ready to burst a blood vessel. It shouldn't have been cute. 

“I thought you guys said you weren’t gonna wait up,” Bucky joked, slipping into the armchair. 

“We didn’t mean to,” Sam replied. “I was going to go to bed, but it’s dangerous to leave this one alone with the talk shows.” 

Steve scowled at Sam and mocked, “It’s dangerous to leave this alone with the talk shows.” 

Sam gave Bucky a pointed look and Bucky laughed. “I see what you mean.” 

“Well, who asked you, asshole?” Steve asked, turning his attention back to the TV.

“Oh, Stevie, you’ll never change will you?” Bucky chuckled. 

Steve stiffened then, and before Bucky could ask what was wrong, Sam asked, “So, how was the date?”

“Really good,” Bucky admitted. “I don’t know if it’s just him or the fact that I’ve been out of the game so long, but it went well. I’d like to see him again. I’m not looking for anything serious, with well…” Bucky trailed off and Sam nodded. Sam got it. “But it was fun. I had fun.” Even as he said it, Bucky still sounded surprised himself. 

“Well, that’s good to hear. I don’t need another white boy moping around here.” 

“I do  _ not _ mope!”

“He gets cranky if he doesn’t have a good dicking down on the regular.”

“Sam!” Steve fumed, whipping around to face him. 

Sam looked taken aback for some reason Bucky didn’t understand. The room suddenly felt really heavy, and he could tell Sam wanted to say something more, but without Bucky in the room. So Bucky pulled himself out of the chair and said in as casual a voice as he could manage, “Well, I’m gonna call it a night.” 

“Good night,” Sam said. 

“Night,” Steve intoned without taking his eyes off of Sam. 

“Night you guys.” Bucky hurried through his nightly routine. When he came out of the bathroom it was quiet. The living room was empty, but the light in Sam’s room was on and he could hear Steve and Sam talking. 

Bucky tried to shake off the feeling that they were talking about him and went into his own bedroom. 

In bed, Bucky texted Thor, telling him he’d gotten home safe and that he had a really nice time that night and couldn’t wait to see him again. Thor was great, funny, and smart, and what his ma would call a real gentleman. He was everything Bucky could ever ask for. And while it was true he wasn’t trying to find The One or whatever, Bucky really wouldn’t be opposed if it turned into something more. 

But as he started to fall asleep, thoughts of Thor’s broad shoulders were replaced with significantly thinner ones, covered in tattoos, and slight arms that lead to delicate wrists and strong hands stained with paint, and the only thought Bucky had was  _ I didn’t know you were queer, too.  _

  
  
  
  



	6. Chapter 6

“Okay, what is going on?” Sam asked as soon as they were in the relative safety of his bedroom.

“Nothing,” Steve lied. 

“Really, Steve?”

Steve threw himself back on Sam’s bed, his glasses going a bit askew with the force. He righted them and then signed,  _ I think I like Bucky. _

“I’m sorry,  _ what _ ?” Sam asked. “I’m  _ really  _ gonna need you to use your words for this.”

_ Do I have to? _

“Yes.”

Steve sighed. “I don’t know. When he said he was going out on a date with a guy…I just…I didn’t think I had a chance. And then when I found out I did…” He trailed off, letting Sam fill in the rest. 

Sam sat down heavily on the bed. “Let me get this straight. First, you’re best friends with the guy, then you hate the guy so much you get over your mutism to  _ spite  _ him, then he moves in here and you can’t even be in the same room with him, then you make up and suddenly you’re BFFs again and now you  _ think you like him _ ?” Sam put his head in his hands. “Only you, Steve.” 

“Well, I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Oh my god,” Sam’s head shot up. “I get it.” He twisted around to face Steve, a look of sinking horror on his face. 

“What do you get?” Steve asked carefully.

“You always liked him.” 

“What?”

“It makes sense. I mean yeah, you can hold a grudge, but I’ve never seen you not forgive a friend.”

“It was a long time ago. It was different. I was different. It was different,” Steve protested, but Sam was shaking his head. 

“Nah, man, don’t even.”

Steve recognized a losing battle. “Okay, fine, I did, but what does that have to do with  _ anything _ ?”

“Steve, it has everything to do with it. You ever think that maybe you don’t actually like Bucky the way he is now, that you guys are reconnecting and you’re just remembering what it was like when you used to like him?”

“You mean I like the idea of him.”

“Exactly,” Sam said. 

“So what am I supposed to do?”

“Well, for one, you can stop acting like a jealous shithead, and for another, you could try going out. With someone else, I mean.”

“I’m not acting jealous,” Steve pouted. “Besides, I hate Tinder.”

“Then go to a bar like a normal person.” 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Even though no one ever looks at me twice when I’m in a bar because they think I’m a child.” 

“Steve,” Sam sighed. 

“Okay, okay, I get it.” 

“Look, man, maybe you do like the guy, or maybe this is just some sort of nostalgic infatuation. I don’t know, but what I do know is that you can’t even really say you’re sure that you like him.”

Steve nodded and Sam continued. “If you still feel like this in a month, okay we’ll deal with it then, but for now, you gotta life to live and so does he.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

Sam shook his head and flopped down on the bed. “I think we should go out. Next week. We  _ both _ could do with a good dicking down, tbh.”

“Or, we could kill two birds with one stone?” Steve suggested, splaying his hand across Sam’s stomach. 

“There he is,” Sam snorted, knocking Steve’s hand away. Steve sniggered and Sam pulled him up underneath his arm so that Steve’s head was resting on his shoulder. 

They were quiet for a few moments before Sam said, “This kinda sucks, doesn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” Steve breathed. “It kinda does.”  

—

Steve could admit that his newly realized feelings for Bucky were ridiculous and Sam had an extremely valid point. It was possible he was just feeling nostalgic or just wanted something he couldn’t have. 

But that didn’t do anything to stop him from having them. And if anything, the more Steve tried not to think about it, the more he thought about it and the more he was convinced that his feelings for Bucky were genuine. This Bucky, whose eyes would crinkle at the corners when he laughed or smiled. This Bucky, who ducked his head in embarrassment when someone said something nice to him. This Bucky, who didn’t mind Steve dragging him all over town looking for the right shade of paint, who ate all of the onions out of his food when the restaurant forgot to take them out, who could tell when Steve’s back was hurting, who would press his thumbs in all the right places without having to ask, but always asking first anyway. This Bucky, who didn’t always do so well in crowds or loud places, but still came out with them on Sam’s newfound quest to get both him and Steve to meet someone whenever he could. 

This Bucky, who let Steve lead him home when an outing became too much, didn’t pretend like he wasn’t overwhelmed. This Bucky, who never minded Steve signing instead of verbalizing. This Bucky, who was quiet and strong and supportive and fuck, Steve might be completely in love with him.

Which was probably why the bar nights were not going well. Sam said Steve wasn’t putting in enough effort, but Steve pointed out that Sam hadn’t met anyone either. Bucky was content to watch the familiar exchange with a soft smile on his face, poking in small jabs at the both of them when he saw fit. 

Bucky never tried to find anyone on these nights out or even pointed anyone out outside of the context of asking if Sam or Steve liked them, so Steve assumed things with Thor must be getting serious. Bucky never really brought him up, but if asked he would insist that they were “Just friends” or “Just hanging out” but he did go out with him at least once a week wearing jeans that made his ass look like Rodin had shaped it.  

Sam had asked once when Bucky was going to bring Thor home to pass inspection, but Bucky had just given him the finger and muttered “Fuck off” while heading out the door. 

On nights Bucky went out with Thor, Steve usually headed to the studio so that he could sulk in peace without Sam shooting him pitying looks across the couch. 

Steve wasn’t making any real progress with the canvas he’d been stuck on for months, but he was getting along quite nicely on a few other projects. They weren’t his usual style, as he was mostly known for his abstract expressionism, but there was nothing stopping him from trying out a new style in the form of portraits. And if they all happened to look like Bucky, well, who was going to tell? 

—

It was the last Wednesday in May when Bucky came home, nodded to Steve who was reading on the couch, and headed straight for his room. Steve wondered if something happened or if Bucky was just having one of those days. 

A few moments later he heard the door to Bucky’s room open and saw him pass by the doorway and head into the bathroom where the shower was turned on. 

Steve continued to read his book, and eventually the shower was turned off and Bucky went back to his room for a few more moments before coming into the living room. Steve looked up to find him hesitating in the doorway, hair still wet and dripping onto his shoulders.  

_ What’s up _ ? Steve signed, not wanting to break the quiet of the apartment. 

_ Can I sit in here? _ Bucky asked. 

Steve sat up and patted the spot where his head had been. Bucky came over slowly and sat down. Steve reached for the remote, but Bucky stopped him.

_ No, it’s okay. Read your book.  _ Steve furrowed his brow, and Bucky went on.  _ I just want some company.  _

Steve nodded.  _ Everything alright? _

_ Yeah. Just one of those days.  _

Steve gave him a reassuring smile and went back to his book. Bucky leaned his head back onto the back on the couch and closed his eyes. Eventually, Steve started squirming. His back hadn’t been the best with the rain the past few days, and sitting up without support like he was wasn’t helping. He thought he should move to the other end of the couch so he could put his legs up, but it was nice just to sit next to Bucky and feel the heat of his body next to his. 

Bucky must have noticed that Steve wasn’t exactly comfortable, because he cracked one eye open and placed his hand on Steve’s shoulder before gently pushing him to lay down. 

_ Your back.  _ Bucky signed without opening his eyes any further. 

Steve nodded and Bucky pushed again. This time Steve went without much protest, trying not to think about how close his head was to Bucky’s groin. He remembered when they were kids they were constantly hanging off of each other, and so this shouldn’t be weird. They were just two friends who didn’t care about things like not showing physical affection, that was all. 

In fact, Steve remembered doing this exact same thing. Bucky would be playing his Game-Boy or doing a Rubik’s Cube, and Steve would have his head in his lap usually reading out loud as part of his speech therapy. 

“Want me to read for you?” Steve asked suddenly. 

Bucky’s eyes opened and he looked down at Steve with a small smile. “Like when we were kids?”

“Yeah,” Steve said with a little chuckle. “I used to read to you all the time. You musta been sick of hearing my voice.” 

“Never,” Bucky murmured. “You’ve always had a nice voice. I always kinda liked bein’ one of the only ones who got to hear it.” 

Steve didn’t really know what to say to that, the admission so honest it knocked Steve off-center. 

“So, what are we reading?” Bucky asked. 

“ _ The Story of a Marriage _ ,” Steve replied. “Want me to start from the beginning?” 

“If you want to.” 

Steve turned to the first page and began to read. “We think we know the ones we love…” 

—

It became a habit of sorts, not every day, but probably once or twice a week. Bucky would come find Steve, book in hand, and Steve would read to him until Bucky fell asleep and Steve’s voice was raw and scratchy, or Bucky started talking about something. Just things that had happened to him, like the time he jumped off a roof in high school on a dare, or the first time he lost a man from his unit. 

Steve tried to talk too. About going to college, how he met Sam, and the time he got arrested for spray painting artful anti-Trump messages on the side of buildings. How things fell apart with Peggy and Steve couldn’t put them back together again. 

Steve didn’t know what to make of the whole situation. But he did know he didn’t want to tell Sam or Clint or anyone. He knew it wasn’t exactly  _ normal _ , and he knew that Sam would have some perfectly reasonable concerns. But he liked having just this, he liked having a part of Bucky that was just for him. He knew it was selfish, and it wasn’t helping him move on, but Steve just wanted things to stay like this as long as he could. 

Besides, Sam was having a bit of a crisis of his own.

“I’m having a crisis,” Sam declared one night, walking into Steve’s bedroom. Sam had been out with some old friend, and Bucky was out with Thor, so Steve figured he was safe to be miserable in his own apartment for the night. 

Steve didn’t even look up from his phone when he said, “Being given too many cookies by the lady who runs the Old World European Bakery is not a crisis Sam.” 

Sam snorted but otherwise didn’t comment on that. “You remember when I said my old partner was moving to town?” 

“Mhm, and you said you didn’t want me to meet him yet because you were worried that I’d embarrass you.” 

“I never said that,” Sam protested. 

Steve pulled up his text messages and replied, “Last Thursday, 7:58 PM, and I quote, ‘Nah, I ain’t bringing him because y’all are gonna be embarrassing. Especially Clint. Side eye emoji.’ End quote.” 

“Okay, I did say that.”

“So, what’s the problem?” Steve asked, switching back to Instagram. 

“I kissed him.”

Steve dropped his phone his face and his glasses dug into the bridge of his nose before pulling out from behind his right ear. Steve made a noise of distress and tried to right himself as quickly as possible. When he got his glasses back on and sat up to face Sam, Sam was watching him with barely concealed amusement.

“That’s about the reaction I expected to get.”

“I was just a little taken by surprise,” Steve explained. 

“I can see that.” 

“I—” Steve started, but then realized he didn’t know what to ask first. “I’m gonna get some wine. Do you want some wine? This seems like a wine conversation.” 

“Yeah, give me some of that funky grape juice.”

“Do you  _ have _ to call it that?” Steve grumbled, getting up and heading for the kitchen. 

Instead of turning to follow him, Sam moved further into Steve’s room and said, “Yup,” before flopping down on the bed. 

“I guess I’ll get us both wine.”

“Guess so.” 

Steve really wished Sam’s face wasn’t currently face down in a pillow so that he could see him flipping the bird at him. 

Steve used the time getting the wine to process what Sam had just told him. Sam had kissed a man and he didn’t seem upset about it, but he also wasn’t completely freaking out.  Then again, he was also Sam, and he never really freaked out about anything. Steve supposed the first thing he needed to figure out was if the crisis was because he kissed his friend or if the crisis was because he kissed his friend who was a man.

Steve carried the wine glasses back into his room and sat down on the bed. Sam sat up enough to take one, but no further. 

“Thanks,” Sam murmured into the glass. 

“So, this crisis,” Steve started after taking a sip of his wine. “What exactly happened?”

“We were at his place. He’s still moving in and I was helping him unpack a bit. I was putting stuff on the bookshelf and I found this photo of us, and he came over and we were talking and laughing about stuff and, man, I don’t know. He was standing so close to me and I looked at him and he looked so happy and suddenly, I just wanted to kiss him. So I did.” 

“Okay,” Steve said slowly. “And how did he take it?”

“He kissed me back.” Sam paused. “Then we kinda made out?” 

“So what exactly are you worried about?” Steve asked and Sam gave him a cool look. “No, I mean are you worried that you kissed your friend or are you worried because that friend is a man and up until tonight you’ve identified as straight?” 

“The second one mainly, but the first one also,” Sam answered. “Obviously I don’t want to fuck up our friendship, but I can’t say I’ve ever really wanted to kiss another man. Except maybe Denzel, but who wouldn’t?” 

“True,” Steve admitted. “What about him?”

“He’s gay.”

Steve nodded and Sam drank more of his wine. “So, seeing him again, like did it feel different? I mean other than you wanted to kiss him?”

“Not really? I mean, we were partners in the Force and we were really close. But looking back on it, maybe we were closer than most partners, I don’t know. Now, I’m thinking about every interaction I’ve had with, like, everyone. I mean, is the way me and you interact normal?”

Truthfully, Steve  _ had _ thought Sam was into men for a long time. Usually straight men weren’t quite so physically affectionate or as chill with the faux seductions as Sam was. But Steve figured out pretty quickly it was just Sam not giving a shit about macho bullshit. But this was a delicate time, and Steve didn’t see any reason to bring that up. 

“It’s not not normal,” Steve finally settled on. “But do you think maybe it’s possible you always wanted to kiss him?”

“Yeah, I guess. I didn’t really let myself think about stuff like that when I was overseas, and then when he fell and he lost his leg…well, anyone would feel the way I felt then, I think.” 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. 

Sam looked up at him. “Does this mean I’m bi?”

“I can’t answer that for you,” Steve replied. “It’s possible. It’s also possible it’s just him. But it’s up to you to figure that out.”

“Did you always know?”

“That I liked both?” 

“Yeah,” Steve admitted. “But I thought that was weird because I’d never heard of it until maybe high school? It was nice to have a name for it though. But I mean, even if you are only attracted to him, you can still be bi, if you want. It’s not a 50/50 type of thing.” 

Sam nodded and reached over to set his wine glass down on the bedside table and rolled onto his back. “So what do I do now?”

“Well, how did it feel kissing him?”

“Good. Great. Would definitely like to do it again.”

“But you’re worried that he’s a man.” 

“Yeah, I mean kissing is one thing. But who's to say I’ll like anything else? I mean, I’ve had anal with girls and that was awesome, but like I’ve never had anything in my butt. And I’ve never touched another man’s dick before. What if he only wants to stick it in me? What if his dick is super huge, how am I going to get in my mouth? What if—”

“Woah, woah, woah, slow down,” Steve laughed. “First of all, how have you never tried to stick anything in your own ass? And you’ve asked a girl to do it?”

“Is that really important right now?” 

“No, but I want you to know that I’m judging you a little. And second of all, you don’t actually know if he wants to do any of these things with you? I mean kissing could be as far as he wants to take it sexually, you know?”

“I guess.” 

“I mean, and I don’t mean to sound harsh, at all, but do you know if he is actually interested in you? Or did he just get caught up in the moment?” 

“Also a possibility,” Sam replied. “We didn’t exactly talk about it.” 

“Well, that’s the second thing you need to do.” Steve set his wine glass down and then turned to face Sam more fully. “The first thing you need to do ask yourself how much you want to try this. But even if you decide that you want to, I gotta warn you Sam, a lot of guys aren’t interested in being ‘the experiment.’ Especially at our age.”

Sam nodded, not looking at Steve. “I get that.” Then he groaned and pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes. “Jesus, what am I going to tell my family?” 

Steve knew Sam’s family well, and anyone could see how much they loved and supported each other. He didn’t think anyone in Sam’s immediate family would begrudge him this, but Steve understood Sam’s worry. He remembered his own anxieties about telling his mother, because even though he knew she wouldn’t love him any less for it, there had been a small wriggle of doubt that he was wrong, that maybe this was too much for her.

“You don’t have to tell them anything right now,” Steve said. “And when you do, no matter what they say you’ll always have me. I know it’s not the same, but I hope it’s something.” 

“Yeah, it’s something. Thanks, Steve,” Sam said, then after a beat, “This isn’t going to change anything, is it?” 

Steve turned to face him a little more. “What do you mean?” 

“Between us,” Sam elaborated. “Are things going to change between us, now that maybe I like men? Like are we gonna stop like hugging or falling asleep on the couch together or are you gonna stop pretending you wanna sleep with me?” 

“I was never pretending.” Steve grinned and Sam hit him on the shoulder. “But no, not unless you want it to.”

“I don’t.”

“Then it won’t.” 

“Steve?” 

“Yeah?

“I love you, man.” 

“Love you too, Sam.” 

  
  


—

Steve decided it was finally time to give Tinder a chance. 

He shouldn’t have bothered. Every person he met was either A) apparently shocked he was actually as short as his photos suggested, B) a total pervert, C) really nice, but boring, or D) a no show. Steve was  _ trying.  _ He really was. It wasn’t his fault that all the good people easily accessible by the Q were taken. 

“Hey,” Steve called into the apartment as he returned from his latest disaster. 

“Hey,” a chorus greeted him back. Steve stepped into the living room to find Sam and Riley cuddled up on the couch, but surprisingly Bucky was there, too. Usually he was out with Thor about this time.

“Bad date?” Sam asked from underneath Riley’s arm on the couch. 

“The worst,” Steve replied, flopping into the armchair. 

“Aw, I’m sorry,” Riley said. “Dating is truly the worst.” Sam made a noise of agreement and the two turned into each other and started to murmur sweet nothings about how lucky they were. Steve kind of wanted to punch him. 

Steve shot Bucky a long-suffering look which was returned. “Have they been like this all night?”

“They’ve been like this since they got together, Steve.”

“Hey!” Steve shouted, and the two were startled apart. “Get a room.” 

“We are in a room,” Sam grinned.

“Oh, don’t tease him, honey,” Riley said, swatting at Sam’s arm. 

“So, my date,” Steve said before Sam and Riley could go back to being disgustingly cute, but they were already well on their way to tuning Steve out. 

“Please, tell us about your date, Steve,” Bucky pleaded. 

“Yes, I was just about to tell you about my date, Bucky,” Steve returned in an overly loud voice. “Sam and Riley, would you like to hear about my date?” 

There was no response from the other end of the couch and Steve groaned.

“All right, you can tell me,” Bucky said. 

“He was 60 and wanted to see my feet.”

“Well, did you show him?” Bucky asked just as Sam piped up with, “Did you know he was 60?” 

“Obviously I didn’t know he was 60,” Steve snapped. “And no I  _ did not _ show him my feet.”

“Well, that’s not nice.” Riley frowned. “He’s just some poor old man looking for love.” 

“Yeah, Steve, you should have shown him your feet,” Sam asserted. 

“Just selfish, really,” Bucky interjected. 

Steve scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. “I hate all of you.” 

The other three broke out laughing and Steve couldn’t help but join in. 

“Ah man, dating really is the worst,” Riley said when they settled down. “Sorry you have to deal with such creeps.” 

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. 

Steve looked at his fingers in his lap. “Just wish it wasn’t so hard. Everyone is either boring, gross, or they don’t like me.”

“You’re a great guy, Steve,” Bucky said softly. “If they don’t like you they’re fucking stupid.”

Steve looked up to meet Bucky’s eye, but when he did, Bucky had already turned away.

—

Before Steve knew it, his birthday was just around the corner. 

“So, it’s almost the fourth, big plans?” Sam asked one night when they were all gathered in the living room, plus Clint. 

“For what?” Clint asked. 

Sam rolled his eyes, “For one, it’s Steve’s birthday, and two, it’s the Fourth of July.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Clint said and immediately turned back to the T.V. 

“We don’t need to make a big deal about it,” Steve said. 

  
“Are you still saying that?” Bucky muttered. 

“So, Steve’s never been big on birthdays?” Sam asked. 

Bucky shook his head and said, “Nah, he always liked to go see the fireworks though.” 

They both knew why Steve never made a big deal out of his birthday, but Steve still smiled at the memory. Bucky used to say the fireworks were just for him. Steve even believed it for a time.

“We could do that,” Sam said. “Haven’t done it in a while. That is, if that’s okay for everybody?”

“Fireworks are usually okay with me,” Bucky said. “Now cars backfiring…” 

“Gotcha. Screen doors slamming.” Sam turned to Steve. “So, fireworks?” 

“I’m good with whatever you guys want to do,” Steve said, and Bucky and Sam gave him twin looks of reproach. “What?”

“Steve, it’s  _ your  _ birthday.” 

“Yeah, and it’s America’s too,” Clint piped up.

“If you want to get technical,” Steve started, but was cut off by Bucky stating, “We absolutely do not.” 

Steve pouted and turned away in a huff. 

“What are our other options?”

“MOMA?”

“You want to bring Clint to the MOMA?” 

“Fair.”

“Hey!” 

“Bar?” 

“Like a bar-bar or like a nice bar?” Steve asked. 

“Either or,” Sam replied. 

“Oh, I know!” Clint interjected. “Escape room!”

“No!” Sam and Steve shouted at the same time. Bucky looked surprised and Clint grumbled about how they never let him go to escape rooms.

“Clint is crazy good at escape rooms. The problem is, he doesn’t escape the right way,” Steve explained. 

“What’s that supposed to mean? I get out, don’t I?” 

“Clint, you went  _ through the vents. _ ” 

“There was nothing in the rules that said I couldn’t.” 

“Yeah, but they shouldn’t fucking need to.” 

Bucky snorted, “I bet they do now,” and Clint chuckled. 

“Okay, we are getting off topic,” Sam cut in, holding his hand out to stop the conversation. He turned to Steve. “Steve, what do you want to do?” 

“Actually, now that it’s been brought up, I would like to go see the fireworks.” 

“You sure?” Bucky asked. 

“Yeah, I’m sure. We can always go to a bar afterward,” Steve explained. 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

—

On the Fourth they headed to Transmitter Park. Sam had invited Riley along, and Bucky invited his friend Natasha who had invited her friends Okoye and Sharon. There was also, of course, Clint and Kate, and then some people Steve had met through work; Carol, Wanda and her brother Pietro, Maria, and some others that just ended up tagging along. The strangest addition had to be Tony Stark, who had apparently invited himself, which Bucky apologized for profusely, and Tony had brought his friend Rhodes along as well. 

All in all, it was probably the oddest group of people Steve had ever seen in one place. But he didn’t mind. The people who were important to him were there, so that was all that really mattered. Everyone was spread out on blankets in the grass and laughing and talking like they were all old friends. There were bottles of wine and beer being passed around, and nobody cared about how some of them had just met, they shared anyway. Steve couldn’t remember a birthday this nice since his mom had passed. 

Steve was sitting next to Bucky listening to Sharon tell some story about the time she got stuck on the Cyclone with Natasha when the fireworks started. Everyone whooped and gasped and turned their attention to the sky. 

It was then that Bucky leaned over and whispered in Steve’s ear, “You see those, Stevie? Those are just for you.”

Steve pulled his head back so that he could look Bucky in the face, and the expression he found there made him falter. Bucky was still so close, and he was looking at Steve like he was nervous, and at first, Steve worried that maybe the fireworks were getting to him. But the longer he looked the more he realized that wasn’t the right type of nervous. It was almost shy, like he wanted—

“Bucky?” 

The moment was broken and Steve mentally cursed whomever had called Bucky’s name to hell and back. Steve turned around and looked up and up until he saw a blond man with a wide grin looking back down at them. 

“Thor,” Bucky greeted and Steve’s heart sank.  _ This  _ was Thor? This man who looked like he’d stepped off the cover of a trashy romance novel? And he was here? “How are you?” 

“I’m well, thank you,” Thor said helping Bucky to his feet and pulling him into a hug. “I was just making my way back to my friends when I happened to spot you.” 

“Why don’t you and your friends join us?” Natasha asked. Steve glanced at her and the surrounding woman around her and found them all wearing the same delighted predatory expression. 

“Natasha,” Bucky hissed. 

“No, no, I wouldn’t want to intrude.” 

“No, it’s not that,” Bucky said, and Steve could see him fumbling for an explanation that wouldn’t offend anyone. “It’s just today, is kind of a special day?”

“Is it?” Natasha muttered and Sharon and Wanda giggled. 

“What Bucky means to say,” Steve cut in and Bucky shot him a worried look that he ignored. “Is that today’s my birthday and he didn’t feel right inviting you without asking me but he didn’t want to make it awkward.” 

Steve heard Okoye hiss presumably to Natasha, “You didn’t tell me it was his birthday,” but he didn’t turn around. 

“Oh,” Thor began looking genuinely delighted, “Happy birthday.” 

“You should join us though,” Steve said, and wished an errant spark from a firework would fall down upon his head and he’d be saved from making this totally insincere offer with his most amiable smile by being set on fire. “The more the merrier.” 

“Yeah, join us!” Tony Stark called and then softer, “Who is that guy?”

“Shut up Tony,” Tony’s friend Rhodes replied. 

“Well, they are right over there, if you’re sure?” Thor pointed to a group of four people a few blankets away. 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Steve assured him. “It’ll be fun,” he lied.

—

Steve was drunk. Not so drunk he couldn’t function, but drunk enough that he was having a harder time than he should trying to pull paper towels out of the dispenser in the bathroom. 

Honestly, he wished he were drunker. It was his birthday and Steve pretty used to having to share it with 4th of July parties, and he had never made a big deal out of it anyway. But this year he wished he could have pulled the “it’s my birthday card” and tapered the guest list. A little. After the fireworks were over, Tony had corralled them all into cars and taken them to some bar. The group didn’t take much convincing when Tony had shouted that drinks were on him. 

Plus, they got a VIP table where they could actually hear each other talk and the floor didn’t feel like someone had thrown Gorilla Glue onto it. 

And all in all, it would be a great way to spend his birthday if it weren’t for  _ Thor _ and how earnestly fucking likable he was. Steve could see why Bucky would go for a guy like that, beyond the fact that he looked like a Greek hero come to life. And there was Natasha, looking at Steve like he had personally caused the fall of the Roman empire. Maybe he had. 

Steve knew he was pouting, but it was his birthday and he was drunk goddamnit, so he was  _ allowed.  _ He was still struggling with the paper towel dispenser when he decided to say fuck it and use toilet paper to wipe his hands. Steve had just gotten into the stall when he heard the bathroom door opening. By some reflex, Steve closed the stall door just before he heard who had walked in. 

“Tony Stark is much different than I expected him to be,” a deep voice that Steve realized was Thor’s said. “But also exactly the same. How is that possible?” 

Someone laughed and Steve knew that it was Bucky. A dreadful sense of deja vu washed over Steve as the two began to go about their business. 

“I don’t know, but you’re exactly right,” Bucky chuckled. “Never a dull day at the office with him.” 

“I can imagine,” Thor replied. There was the sound of the urinal flushing and Steve couldn’t hear what they were saying, but then, “But I don’t think I’ve made a very good impression on your friend Steve.” 

“Ah,” Bucky said, not sounding the least bit surprised and Steve scowled at him through the door. “Don’t worry about him. He's like a chihuahua.”

“How so?” 

“Small, skittish, and always ready to throw down.” 

Thor let out a booming laugh and Steve heard Bucky join in. “I think I like your friend.”

“Yeah, I think I do, too. But—”

Whatever else Bucky said was cut off by the sound of the faucets turning on and then the automatic paper towel dispenser, which was of course fucking working now, and by the time Steve could hear again it was just in time to hear Thor say, “You’re wonderful.”

“Thanks,” Bucky replied. “You’re not so bad yourself.” And then the door opened and Steve was left alone. 


	7. Chapter 7

Bucky couldn’t believe what a disaster the night was turning into. First, Natasha had brought along  _ two  _ of her snarkiest friends and had proceeded to roast the hell out of anyone dumb enough to try and get to know her. Tony  _ loved  _ it. Then, of course, there was Tony, who had shown up even though Bucky had expressly told him it was Steve’s birthday and he didn’t need any “help.” Rhodes, at least, looked apologetic for crashing Steve’s birthday, but Bucky was actually glad he was there to reel Tony in some. 

And then Thor was there for some reason.  

Under any other circumstances, Bucky would have been delighted to see Thor. But as it was Steve’s birthday and Tony and Natasha were already doing their best to ruin it (or improve it depending on who was asked), and the last thing Bucky needed was the guy he’d been talking to for a few weeks to crash the party and add any more humiliation to the night. 

Thor and Bucky’s blossoming romance had fizzled out pretty much as soon as it had started. Bucky had a great time with Thor and vice versa, but Thor had said he could see Bucky’s heart wasn’t really in it, and Bucky couldn’t lie to him. Thor didn’t deserve that. They still hung out, but it was strictly as friends. 

And it was true that something was holding Bucky back from really giving the thing with Thor a shot. And that thing was a 5’4” human version of a hot McDonald’s black coffee. Bucky had done something incredibly stupid, as Natasha put it, and had fallen for Steve. Somewhere between the angles of all that righteous anger, sometimes outright dickery, and hellfire, Bucky would find an edge that had been sandpapered down. 

He couldn't really say when it had happened, but one day he was watching Steve yell at some guest commentator on CNN and looked up and thought,  _ I could do this forever.  _ Bucky couldn’t say he was surprised. Somehow he always knew this was how it was going to turn out. 

Then Steve had started going on all those Tinder dates and Bucky had thought he’d lost his chance. Until that moment during the fireworks that night. But then Thor had shown up and Steve had pulled away. 

Steve had been tense the rest of the evening, and when they’d gotten to the bar and into the VIP sections, which was thankfully a little ways off from the main part, so Bucky didn’t feel quite so overwhelmed at the number of people. But he still had to go out for some air almost as soon as  they had arrived. Thor had been nice enough to go with him, chattering about nothing in particular while Bucky tried to squash down his rising panic. 

When he got back to their table, Steve was plastered to Tony side, giggling at whatever dumb shit Tony was spewing and every so often whispering in his ear. The few times Bucky had tried to catch Steve’s attention, Steve had pretended like he hadn’t seen him. Worse still was Natasha kept shooting Bucky I-told-you-so looks from across the table.

Bucky’s eyes flicked back to where Steve and Tony were sitting, and Bucky watched as Steve lifted up his shirt to show Tony some of his tattoos. Steve was pointing out one on his hip bone, (the head of a dragon, Bucky knew, that went down around his thigh) when he heard, “It goes down all the way. Wanna see?”

Bucky was up and out of his seat before Tony was finished saying “Yes,  _ please, _ ” and was tugging Steve’s shirt down. 

“Okay, I think it’s probably time get you home,” Bucky said, taking Steve’s elbow and pulling him off of Tony’s side. 

“Aw, you’re no fun Buckaroo,” Tony whined.

“Yeah, you’re no fun, Buck _ aroo _ ,” Steve parroted narrowing his eyes up at Bucky. 

“It’s his birthday,” Tony continued. 

Suddenly, Steve wriggled out of Bucky’s grasp and shouted “Birthday cake!” while running at breakneck speed for the DJ. Before anyone could stop him, Steve had disappeared into the crowd and Bucky turned back to Tony with murder in his eyes. 

“Rhodey,” Tony pleaded, eyes still trained on Bucky. 

Rhodes didn’t even look up from his phone as he commented, “You fucked up,” and sipped his rum and coke. 

Bucky stalked forward ready to strangle Tony who was busy trying to to make excuses when the music changed abruptly and the DJ announced, “This one is for all the July babies!” 

“Birthday cake!” Steve suddenly reappeared from the masses and was currently launching himself at the low table that held their drinks. 

“Steve, no!” Bucky shouted, his arms outstretched ready to catch him, when Steve inevitably took a nose dive off the table. By some miracle, Steve landed in the middle of the table without incident. Then Steve began to attempt twerking and singing along to Rhianna’s “Birthday Cake.”  

There were whoops and hollers, and Bucky looked around and saw that everyone except for Okoye couldn’t be more delighted with the show. Bucky met Natasha’s eye and she raised an eyebrow at him before flicking her eyes over to Thor. He was absolutely not in the mood to deal with  _ that  _ right now, so he scowled at her and then tried to find Sam on the couch. Sam wouldn’t condone this. Sam was an adult, and he was responsible and—

Sam was getting on the table. 

“Show ‘em how it’s done honey!” Riley called out. 

Bucky didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or join in. He resigned himself to the fact that this was happening and sat himself down next to Rhodes to watch it play out. 

Sam and Steve were grinding on each other on the table and Bucky felt a stab of jealousy when Sam put his hands on Steve’s hips, but reminded himself that Steve could do whatever he wanted because Bucky  _ hadn’t  _ actually said anything. Also, it didn’t matter because anyone with one working eyeball, and even those who didn’t, could see that Sam and Riley were head over heels for each other. Besides, they were having fun, and Bucky couldn’t help but smile at the sight they made and even took a few pictures to taunt Sam with later. 

When the song was winding down, Sam hopped off of the table to a round of applause and gave a little bow. Steve stumbled a bit as he tried to jump down, but thankfully Thor was there to catch him, although his glasses fell to the floor.

“All right?” Thor asked, picking up the glasses and holding them out. 

“I’m fine,” Steve huffed, snatching his glasses away from Thor. Bucky could see the beginnings of a tirade that no one wanted to hear right now, so he got up and put himself in between the two. 

“Hey, Sam,” Bucky called, slinging his arm over Steve’s shoulder and leaning like he needed Steve to support him. Steve wiggled a bit but Bucky held on fast. “I think I’ve had too much so me and Steve are gonna head home, you good here?”

“I don’t  _ want  _ to go home,” Steve protested. 

Even with how much Sam had had to drink, Bucky could tell he could see through Bucky’s charade as clear as day. “Aw, all right man. I’ll go home with Riley, so don’t worry about me.” He turned to Steve. “Steve, make sure Barnes drinks plenty of water before bed. We don’t want him to have a nasty hangover in the morning, now do we?” 

Steve narrowed his eyes in suspicion at Sam, but only said, “Yeah, I’ll do that.”  

They said their goodbyes, people calling out happy birthdays and Steve waving like a beauty queen at them all. Bucky rolled his eyes and tugged Steve towards the exit.    
  


“There’s a car waiting for you outside!” Tony called from behind Rhodes' shoulder. Bucky shot him a look that he hoped conveyed the severity of the the talk they were going to have come Monday. 

Steve was quiet when they got into the car and even quieter during the ride, not even responding to Bucky’s questions in sign. By the time they got home Bucky was ready to pull his hair out. 

They headed into the kitchen and Steve silently poured them both a glass of water and dished out two Tylenol each. 

“Thanks,” Bucky said, picking up the glass of water. He hadn’t actually drunk enough to warrant the Tylenol, so he put it back with a apologetic smile. 

“Steve,” Bucky began, but Steve was already turning away. 

“Good night,” Steve said tersely, heading for his bedroom. 

“No,” Bucky said, shaking his head and Steve stopped to look at him. “We are  _ not _ doing this again.”

“Doing what?” Steve asked, and Bucky knew Steve knew exactly what he meant.

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. “You being mad at me and me not knowing why.”

“I’m not mad at you.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched and his arm recalibrated as he flexed his fist. “Okay, fine. Fuck this.” 

Bucky turned to stomp off to his room, shutting the door behind him. He had the buttons halfway undone on his shirt when he heard a knock on his door. 

Bucky wondered if it would do him any good to pretend he didn’t hear it. Bucky may have loved Steve, but it was late, and he wasn’t sure how much more of Steve’s bullshit he could take. In the end, he called out, “Come in,” deciding that it was easier to just deal with whatever Steve wanted. 

Steve opened the door looking like he’d come to tell Bucky that he was going to fight Rudy Giuliani and there was nothing Bucky could do to stop him. Bucky might have found it cute if he weren’t so annoyed. 

“I heard you,” Steve said without preamble. “In the bathroom.” 

Bucky stopped and blinked, unsure how to respond to such a bizarre statement. “Uh, what?”

Steve waved his hands erratically as if to swat away Bucky’s confusion. He moved further into the room and sat down on Bucky’s bed. He crossed his arms and looked up defiantly. “With Thor,” he clarified. “I heard you talking. I heard you call me a Chihuahua.”

Bucky felt panic prickle down his spine. If he had heard them talking in the bathroom, then he had also heard Bucky tell Thor that he didn’t think Steve was into him. “You did?”

“Yeah. And Thor said he thought he liked me and then you said you did too,  _ but. _ ” Steve wrinkled his nose but didn’t continue. 

“But what?” Bucky whispered. This was it. Steve was going to tell Bucky that he didn’t see him that way or that he was grossed out he’d think of him like that, they had known each other forever, that they were like long lost brothers. Steve was going to tell him that he hated him.

Steve looked away and sniffed. “I don’t know. I couldn’t hear the rest, but the point is you said  _ but _ .” 

“Steve, you don’t have  _ any _ idea what I said after that?” Bucky pressed, and Steve shook his head. “Then how do you know it was something bad?” 

“Because who says but and then something good? Who in the history of the world has said I like him  _ but _ he’s just so handsome?” Steve threw his arm out. “If you didn’t like me or didn’t want to hang out with me why don’t you just tell me instead of going behind my back all the time?” 

Bucky took a step back, off-kilter at how angry Steve suddenly was. “What are you talking about?”

“Didn’t you ever wonder why we stopped being friends?” 

“What? Of course I did. All the damn time. And I still don’t know, and I’m frankly getting a little tired of this game so if you could just—”

“You said it was weird I didn’t talk!” Steve cut in. “I heard you that day in the bathroom when those guys wanted you to go to Alex Pierce’s party. You said you thought it was weird I didn’t talk!”

Bucky felt the breath punch out of him. “ _ That’s _ what this has been about? Some dumb shit I said when I was being peer pressured when I was  _ fourteen _ ?” 

“It wasn’t  _ what _ you said,” Steve muttered. “It was that you  _ said _ it.” 

Bucky had only had a few drinks, but he was definitely too drunk for this. “Steve, that doesn’t make any sense.” 

“I know it must seem petty and vindictive to you. I know it sounds ridiculous, and it’s unfair, but you were my best friend. You were my  _ only _ friend and I trusted you and to hear you say it—” Steve broke off. “I believed you.” 

“Jesus, Steve.” Bucky sat down on the bed and tried to make sense of what Steve had just told him. For the better part of 15 years Bucky had tried to figure out what went wrong between him and Steve. He went over every detail of the few days before their fight, trying to find out what mistake he had made, what thing he had done that could make Steve hate him. Somehow, it had never occurred to him that Steve had found out about that day in the bathroom. 

Some part of Bucky understood. Steve must have felt so betrayed by what Bucky had said. Bucky had always been the only kid who had never cared that Steve didn’t talk. He could only imagine how much it must have hurt to hear that Bucky did. But another part of Bucky was furious. All these years he’d wondered, all these years he could have had his best friend, and for what? Some bullshit he had said just to get the other boys to leave him alone? He hadn’t even  _ meant  _ it. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said suddenly. Bucky turned to face him, but Steve was looking at the ground. “I know you probably didn’t mean it. I know it wasn’t fair to treat you like I did when you moved in because of something stupid you said when we were kids. But I was so mad for so long and I just…didn’t know how to stop.” 

Steve looked up then, and Bucky felt rooted to the spot with the clarity of his gaze. “You didn’t deserve that. You’ve never deserved to have to deal with me. You were an amazing best friend and I was lucky to have you.” He paused. “You still are. I still am.” 

Bucky stood up. “I have something to show you.” He walked over and opened his top drawer and pulled out a photo. “This wasn’t exactly the birthday present I had for you, but here you go.” 

Bucky handed Steve the photo. He took it while asking, “What’s this?”

“Us.”

“But, why…”

“You know it’s probably the dumbest thing ever, I mean, I grew up on military bases, heard all the war stories, went to more funerals than I can even remember, I mean, fuck, I went to  _ West Point _ . We took classes on the psychological impact of war. None of that prepared me for going overseas.” 

Bucky took a moment to gather his thoughts before he continued. “My first leave I was home, and my mom wanted me to clean out some of my stuff so she could donate it. I found that.” He tapped the picture. “I took it with me when I went back. Most people got pictures of their families or children or boyfriends and girlfriends. Me? I carried around a picture of my ex-best friend.” Bucky let out a self-deprecating chuckle. 

“I don’t understand,” Steve said, staring at the picture. “Why would you take this? Didn’t you hate me?”

“I did, for a long time. I was so mad at you, but then I found that picture and I remembered what it was like to be happy, really happy, and I wanted that again. I needed to remember that I could be happy. I was always happy with you. I still am.” 

Steve looked up at Bucky, searching. He must have found the same thing Bucky was looking for, because he was moving a split second after Bucky, their lips crashing together, the picture falling by the wayside as their hands reached out to clutch at one another.

Abruptly, Steve pulled away, holding Bucky at arm's length. “This is wrong.”

“It is?” Bucky couldn’t hide the fear in his voice. 

Steve furrowed his eyebrows and said slowly, “You’re with Thor.”

Bucky would have laughed if Steve hadn’t been so serious. “What? No, I’m not. He’s just a friend. I said that.”

Steve blinked, clearly surprised. “Yeah, but you kept wearing those really tight jeans to see him and saying ‘He’s  _ just  _ a friend.’ Like we don’t all know what that means.” 

This time Bucky did laugh. “Were you checking out my ass, Rogers?”

Steve crossed his arms over, a little color coming to his cheeks. “I’m not made of iron.” 

Bucky laughed again and took Steve’s hand in his. “Steve, I am not with Thor. We went on a few dates. It wasn’t there romantically, but we decided to stay friends.”

“Why? I mean, have you  _ seen  _ Thor?” 

“Yeah, Steve, I’ve seen him,” Bucky chuckled. “The thing was Thor could tell I was kinda already into someone else.” 

“Oh.” Steve started to pull his hand away. 

Bucky rolled his eyes and held on a little tighter. “It’s you, dumbass.” 

Steve looked so earnest when he said “Really?” that it kind of hurt Bucky’s heart. 

“Steve,” he said softly. “Of course.” 

“But I…I was so  _ awful  _ to you.” 

“And you apologized, and we’ve moved on,” Bucky interrupted. Steve looked like he was about to say something more, so Bucky continued, “But we do really need to talk about how much you’re hanging out in bathrooms though.”

Steve groaned, but he was smiling. 

“I would have told you sooner, but you started going out on all those Tinder dates, so I thought you weren’t interested.”

“Bucky,” Steve enunciated, reaching for Bucky’s metal hand. “I only went on those dates because I thought you weren’t interested. And I was trying to move on.” 

Bucky looked at their hands intertwined then back to Steve’s open face and was suddenly a little overwhelmed with how much he felt for Steve. He knew they had a lot of hard conversations that they were going to have to get through, and probably a lot of fights out of those conversations. If this was going to go anywhere they were going to have to put in a lot of work. But right then Bucky didn’t care about any of that, the only thing he cared about was holding Steve’s hand and keeping that dumb lovestruck look on both their faces for as long as he could. 

—

Bucky woke up to a warm body lying half on top of his. Steve’s face was smushed against Bucky’s chest, his face scrunched up so comically that Bucky started to laugh, which jostled Steve. 

Steve let out a noise of protest at being woken up and rolled away, but only far enough to use Bucky’s shoulder as his new pillow. 

“Steve?” There was a grunt in response. “How you feelin’?” 

“Like I’m ready to run the Boston Marathon, how the fuck do you think?” 

Bucky chuckled and rolled over so he was spooning Steve. “Think pancakes would make it better?” 

Steve turned his head and looked at Bucky through one cracked eye. “Does that mean you’re going to get out of bed?” 

“It does.” Steve seemed to consider that for a moment, and Bucky said, “If it helps, I was going to order them, so I’d only be out of bed long enough to answer the door.” 

“That helps.” Steve closed his eye again and snuggled further into Bucky’s embrace. “Pancakes would make it better. Chocolate chip. With whip cream. And bacon. A lot of bacon. Ask for all the bacon they have.” 

Bucky snickered and rolled onto his back to grab his phone on the bedside table. Steve whined when he moved away. “You’re surprisingly clingy,” Bucky commented. 

“Bite me,” Steve replied. 

“Kinky. What’s your safe word?”

“Captain.” 

“Ooo, an authority kink too? Why am I not surprised.” Bucky tapped in their order, making sure to select extra bacon for Steve. “You gonna call me sir?” 

“Sure,” Steve said cheerfully. “Fuck off,  _ sir _ .” 

Bucky set his phone back on the nightstand table and rolled back over, pulling Steve closer. “Lucky for you my kink is insubordinate twinks.” 

Steve snorted and elbowed Bucky lightly in the ribs. “I’m not a twink.”  

“Sure you aren’t, pal,” Bucky said, pressing his face into Steve’s neck and grinning. Bucky fell into a half sleep until the food arrived. When he brought it into the bedroom Steve was sitting up and looking expectant. 

“Oh,  _ now _ you’re up.” 

“Bucky,” Steve whined, making grabby hands at the bags of food he was holding. 

Bucky waved the food just out of arm's reach until Steve’s leg shot out from underneath the covers and kicked him in the hip. “You fuckin’ punk,” Bucky gritted out as Steve snatched the bag from him, an entirely too self-satisfied smirk on his lips. 

“Don’t fuck with my food honey,” Steve sang, untying the bag. 

Bucky pulled out his laptop and got  _ Instant Hotel _ queued up while Steve dished out the food. They kept up a running commentary on all the contestants, and Bucky lost two pieces of his bacon for making an unflattering comparison between Steve and Leroy that he had texted to Sam. Sam, the traitor, had texted Steve a screenshot that Steve held up like he was presenting an Oscar. 

Bucky sent Sam a picture of Steve flicking off the camera and they both turned their phones on silent when Sam had sent them both versions of “WHY ARE YOU EATING PANCAKES NAKED IN THE SAME BED?” texts. 

“Hey, Bucky?” Steve asked somewhere between episode three and four. 

“What’s up?” 

“What are we?” 

Bucky had thought they had covered that last night, but he supposed it was never explicitly stated. The memory of the night shifted and Bucky suddenly realized he didn’t know if Steve wanted a relationship or maybe to just stay friends and fool around sometimes. Maybe he didn’t want anything to change. Maybe he was happy the way they were.

“Bucky.”

Steve’s voice cut through Bucky’s internal spiral. Bucky looked up and realized Steve had moved the laptop away and was now directly in front of Bucky, concern clear in his eyes. 

“Hey,” Steve said softly. “You back with me?” 

Bucky let out a stuttering breath, trying to shake off the gnawing panic that was still clawing at the back of his mind. “Sorry, yeah.”

“Nothin’ to be sorry for,” Steve told him. “For the record, I only asked because I wanted to make sure that you knew you’re never getting rid of me now. You promised.” 

Bucky gave him a small smile. “I did?” 

“Mhm,” Steve hummed, moving to straddle Bucky, his arms winding around his neck. “When we were seven. You said, ‘till the end of the line.” 

“I think you made the same promise there, Stevie,” Bucky said, placing his hands on Steve’s hips. 

“Yeah, I did,” Steve replied before kissing Bucky. 

They weren’t wearing much clothing to begin with, so it didn’t take long before they were naked, their bare skin pressed against each other in any way they could get it. 

“Bucky?” Steve whispered. “I want you, please.” 

“Of course.” Bucky kissed him softly before pulling away to get what he needed. Bucky took his time opening Steve up. They had nowhere to be, no reason to rush. He enjoyed the soft little sighs and breathy moans that would fall from Steve’s lips when Bucky moved his fingers just right. 

When he entered him, Steve threw his arm around Bucky’s neck and moved with him, perfectly in tune with each other, no words needed. And when Bucky reached between them to help Steve over the edge, he fell too. 

—

Natasha and Steve’s first official meeting went as well as Bucky could have suspected. Natasha only threatened bodily harm three times that Bucky had witnessed, and Steve had only snapped at her once. Bucky quickly realized with an acute sense of dread that as soon as they both stopped sniping at each other they were going to be  _ good _ friends. 

—

Work had started up for Steve again, and he more often than not came home angry about something. Bucky usually let Steve vent about it for a while before he tried to take Steve’s mind off of it.  

It was a typical Thursday night. Sam had taken one look at Steve and Bucky cuddled up on the couch and heard Steve say the phrase “budget cuts” and had wisely headed off to Riley’s.  But now Steve was all speeched out and his head was on his leg as he read an article about a newly discovered star Bucky had pulled up on his StarkPad. Bucky had already read it, and so he was simply running his fingers through Steve’s hair and answering questions when Steve asked them. 

“My mom used to do this for me,” Bucky said suddenly.

“Huh?” Steve moved the StarkPad out his line of vision so he could look up at Bucky. 

“When I was little. My mom used to brush my hair. I kinda miss it sometimes.” 

Steve looked at Bucky for a long moment before setting the StarkPad down and sitting up. “Steve?” 

“Wait,” Steve said. He got up and walked towards the bathroom, and when he came back, he was holding Bucky’s comb. 

“Sit.” Steve pointed at the cushion. 

“Uh,” Bucky began, but Steve just shook his head and pointed at the cushion. Bucky looked from the cushion to Steve, but Steve just stood there waiting. Bucky gave a snort at how serious Steve looked and slid to the floor. 

“Was that so hard?” Steve asked as he settled on the couch behind him.

“Ask me again when you’ve pulled all my hair out.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Steve gently took the hairband from Bucky’s hair and began to work the comb through it. Bucky didn’t remember his mother being quite so gentle, but it still felt nice. 

“Thank you,” Bucky whispered as Steve combed his hair. 

“Nothing to thank me for, but you’re welcome anyway,” Steve told him. 

They fell into a comfortable silence, the only sound was the constant drag on the comb through Bucky’s hair. But then Steve shifted and his foot hit Bucky’s metal arm. He felt Steve tense up behind him. 

“Are you okay?” Bucky asked softly.

“Yeah, just hit my ankle bone.” 

Steve kept combing Bucky’s hair and it was quiet again until Bucky said, “It was friendly fire.”

“Hm?”

“My arm,” Bucky clarified, lifting his hand. “There was a miscommunication with another unit. They were in the wrong position. I got hit and they had to amputate.” 

“Oh.”

“The guy who hit me. He was pretty broken up about it. Wasn’t really his fault, just…human error.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Steve said. 

Bucky nodded. “When I was discharged, my family came to pick me up and I went with them upstate. My mom couldn’t stop crying, so neither could Becca. My dad kept looking at me like I should be proud I lost my arm. I couldn’t stand to be around them. All Mom and Becca wanted to do was talk about what happened, how I was doing, was I in pain, did I need help. My dad didn’t want to talk at all. Just kept clapping me on the shoulder and shaking his head. It made me so  _ mad _ .” 

  
  


Bucky stopped to take a breath. He had talked about this with his therapist plenty of times, but it was still different telling Steve. His therapist wasn’t going to judge him, and if they did, Bucky would never know. But what was more, Bucky didn’t  _ care  _ what his therapist thought about him. At the end of the day, he could leave her office and never come back and that would be that. But Steve…Bucky was already so fucked up. He wanted Steve to still be able to see some good in him. But he knew for any relationship to work they had to be open and honest, and it was good for Bucky to talk about this kind of stuff with those closest to him. Or so his therapist said. 

“Hey, you don’t have to tell me.” 

“No, I want to.” And really, Bucky  _ did _ . He didn’t want to hide from Steve. 

Bucky started again, “I kept thinking about being anywhere but there, about just getting up and walking down the street and walking until I couldn’t walk anymore. I was ready to walk into the goddamn ocean. And then one day, I don’t remember why it made me so mad, but my mom made this lemon tart I used to like when I was a kid. She hadn’t made that tart for me in like, ten years, because it took so much time. Then it was just a normal Tuesday, and she brings this fucking tart in like, here your favorite. And I just couldn’t.”

“What did you do?” 

“I just got up. Walked out. Did exactly what I’d been thinking about doing. I ended up walking to Stewart.” 

“Stewart?”

“Airport. But by the time I’d gotten there, I guess my family had put the word out that I’d took off.”

“So what happened?” 

“They took me to psych,” Bucky admitted. “It was supposed to be 72 hours, but my dad convinced them to let me go after 48. They discharged me, I went home, packed up my shit, and got the hell out. My mom and Becca were crying and my dad kept yelling and it was like watching a scene from a movie, you know, where the sound kinda cuts out after an explosion or something? I got on a bus and ended up at Nat’s place. That was over a year ago.” 

“And your family?”

“Haven’t really spoken since,” Bucky murmured. “They tried calling a lot, but I never answered, and eventually…they stopped trying.” 

Steve stopped combing Bucky’s hair then and Bucky felt him swing his leg over before sliding down on the floor next to him so that they were pressed together shoulder to foot. “Do you regret it?”

“What?”

“Leaving,” Steve clarified turning to look Bucky in the face. 

Bucky studied Steve’s face as he thought about it. If he had never left, he probably wouldn’t have started recovery when he did, not without Natasha to kick him in the ass. He probably never would have joined Tony’s program, or designed his arm. And he probably never would have reconnected with Steve. 

“No,” he said softly. “I know I had to. But I regret the way I did it. I regret doing that to my family.”

“So you haven’t spoken to them at all?” 

Bucky shook his head. “Not really. I sent my mom a text when I got the Stark thing and she was so happy for me, and she asked me to call but then I just…never did.”

“Why not?”

“Dunno,” Bucky shrugged. “Felt like I left it too long.”

“And now you feel like you can’t,” Steve filled in. 

“Pretty much.” 

Steve reached down and twined their fingers together, giving Bucky’s hand a little squeeze that Bucky returned. 

“Hey, Bucky?” Steve said after a beat.

“Yeah?”

“I think you should call your mom.” 

“Yeah, me too.”


	8. Chapter 8

**1 Year Later**

“You nervous?”

“It’s only my first solo exhibition, why would I be nervous?” Steve rolled his eyes.

“You already got the exhibition, what is there to be nervous about?” Bucky asked. 

Steve turned away from Bucky, straightening something on the refreshment table that didn’t need fixing. “What if everyone hates it?”

“Now, Steven, is that any way to talk?” a voice asked. 

Steve and Bucky both looked up and saw Peggy standing there, her hands on her hips and her red lips quirked to the side. 

“Peggy?” Steve breathed. “What are you doing here?” 

“Well, I couldn’t very well miss your first solo show, now could I?” She came over and enveloped Steve in a warm hug.

Steve squeezed her tightly. “I can’t believe you’re here.” 

She pulled back and took him in. “Sam filled me in on the details, seeing as  _ you  _ didn’t.” Steve looked sheepish and she turned her attention to Bucky. “And you must be the one he was too busy talking about to tell me about this show.” 

“Peggy!” Steve hissed, ears going red and Bucky grinned. 

“You been talking about me Rogers?”

“Only every other word,” Peggy told him. 

“Well, it’s nice to finally meet you Peggy,” Bucky said holding his hand out. “Steve doesn’t really shut up about you, either.”

“Bucky!” 

“Likewise,” Peggy returned, shaking Bucky’s hand.

Later in the evening, after speeches had been made and Steve had thanked everyone, especially Bucky, Peggy found him hiding out with a bottle of wine. 

“Are we upset or are we celebrating?” Peggy asked, arching an eyebrow. 

“Celebrating,” Steve grinned up at her passing her the bottle. “Someone just bought three of my pieces.” 

Peggy’s face broke into a wide smile. “Congratulations!” She took the bottle and took a dainty sip. 

“I mean, I’m pretty sure it was just Tony Stark, well, Pepper Potts, but still.” 

They both looked over to where Bucky and Pepper were deep in conversation and Tony was playing on his phone. 

“Still something to celebrate,” Peggy decided. “You might have yourself a patron.” 

Steve snorted. “What am I, an Italian Renaissance master?” 

“Not with that attitude.” She took another sip of the wine before handing it back. “Bucky is really lovely. And this exhibition! I’m so proud of you Steve. I honestly haven’t seen you this happy in years.” 

“Thanks,” Steve said, taking the bottle. “I am happy. And I’m really happy that Sam told you about this.” 

“Me too,” Peggy said, bumping her shoulder with Steve’s. 

**2 Years Later**

“Is that it?” Steve asked, kicking a box of his paints through the door. 

“It better be,” Clint groaned. “My arms hurt.”

“Suck it up,” Sam said, walking through the door with a box full of Steve’s books. “You didn’t even carry anything heavy.”

Steve watched as Sam dropped the box onto the counter with a huff and chuckled. “You should have had Bucky carry that.”

“I can carry a box of books Rogers.” Sam crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows definitely. 

“Yeah, but I can carry two,” Bucky said, appearing the doorway. 

“Aw, no fair,” Clint said. “He’s cheating.” 

“I am using the tools I have been given,” Bucky replied. 

“Is one of those tools running your mouth?” A voice shouted from the bedroom. 

“Aw, Ma, c’mon!” Bucky whined as the boys started to snigger. “You’re making me look bad.” 

Winnifred came out from the bedroom with a sly smile that Bucky had definitely inherited from her and said, “Sweetie, you do that all on your own.” 

“Ma!” Bucky groaned as everyone burst into laughter. “That’s it, everyone outta my apartment!”  Bucky pointed to the door and was met with even more boisterous laughter. 

“Hey, this is my apartment too!” Steve protested. “And if they want to stay and laugh at you, they can.” 

Winnie came over and gave Steve a smacking kiss on the forehead. “You were always my favorite, you know.” 

Eventually, everyone was hustled out into the hallway where the process of goodbyes was dragged out for another five minutes at least. 

“Jeez, the way they’re rushing us outta here, you’d think they had places to be.”

“I do have places to be Sam—up Steve’s ass, so if you’d like to stay—”

“Bucky!” Winnie hit her son upside the head and Steve covered his face with his hands.

Bucky shrugged and looked sheepish. “Sorry, Ma.” 

When everyone was gone with the promise of a feast in two weeks time at the house warming party, Bucky turned to Steve and took his hand into his. 

“So, ready to christen our new apartment?” 

“One condition,” Steve said. 

“Oh, yeah, what’s that?” 

“Marry me?” 

Bucky took a step back as Steve dropped to one knee in front of the apartment door. “I don’t have a ring or a speech or anything, but I love you, and I already told you I’m with you ’til the end of the line, so goddamnit Bucky Barnes, just say you’ll marry me.” 

Tears welled in Bucky’s eyes as he pulled Steve to his feet. “That’s got to be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me. ‘Goddamnit, say you’ll marry me.’ I’m putting that on our wedding invitations.”

“Does that mean yes?” Steve looked up at him, hopeful. 

“Fuck yeah it does, punk.” 

Steve grinned and threw his arms around Bucky’s neck dragging him down for a kiss. It didn’t take long for it to turn into a potential citation for public indecency, so when they broke apart Steve said, “Should we move this inside?” 

“Great idea,” Bucky replied, then leaned down and scooped Steve into his arms, bridal style. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Steve shouted, flailing a bit. 

“Carrying you over the threshold.” To illustrate the point, Bucky did just that. 

“That’s  _ after _ the wedding, dumbass.” 

“Oh, are you going to call the wedding tradition police on me?” Bucky asked and kicked the door shut behind them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! You can find me on [tumblr](http://bangyababy.tumblr.com).


End file.
